


(Snowmen Have) Nothing to Hide

by sunsetmog



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: AU, Chicago - Freeform, Christmas, M/M, Scrooge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spencer is antisocial and hates Christmas, Ryan is in love, Jon is planning vacations and Brendon doesn't want to spend Christmas alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Snowmen Have) Nothing to Hide

**Author's Note:**

> With massive thanks to the people who offered to beta this at such short notice: secrethappiness, insunshine and rubbishgroupie, who all gave me really detailed and useful comments and I'm spectacularly grateful to. That said, any remaining errors are down to me.
> 
> For ashlein and harriet_vane, who have put up with me emailing bits of this every day for a while now. ♥
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/35657.html) on 23rd December 2008.

"This is the lamest idea you've ever had," Spencer says, pointedly. He balances his phone between his ear and his shoulder while he fumbles with his gloves, trying not to cut the call off with his chin. It's happened before. Sometimes he thinks he should really wait until he's left the office to call Ryan back, but Spencer never remembers until it's too late and he's already pressed redial. "Of all the crappy ideas you've ever had, Ryan," he goes on, trying to put his hat on, "this is the lamest. The most stupid. The crappiest. I have run out of lame words to describe how stupid and _lame_ this idea is."

"How about," Ryan says, sounding distracted and like he's in a fucking cave, he's echoing so much, "and maybe you could think about trying this, Spence, instead of calling me when I'm trying to fucking _work_ -"

Spencer huffs.

"-you could stop being a _dick_ , and just do this one nice thing for me without complaining?"

"Yeah, but this one thing is _really fucking lame_ ," Spencer says. Lamely. He rolls his eyes at the girl from corporate design that always sends his emails back to him with the errors highlighted in yellow. Spencer hates her, and he hates her stupid yellow highlighter. It's not even like he writes the text he sends to her, he just bugs the people in his department until they send it through to him, and he collates it and sends it down. And then _she_ stamps all over it in yellow and emails it back. She'd be the bane of his existence if he wasn't already best friends with Ryan.

She smiles beatifically at him across the hallway.

Spencer grimaces. His life is designed to test him, he knows this. Again, he mostly quotes Ryan as evidence.

"Don't you want me to have a nice Christmas, Spencer?"

Spencer blinks, narrowly avoiding walking into a door as he tugs his coat on. "Are you kidding?"

"No," Ryan says. "Do you want me to spend the whole of the holidays worrying about you, when instead I could be- um-"

"Having sex with your boyfriend," Spencer fills in, helpfully.

Marjorie from reception looks startled. Spencer waves at her as he walks by.

"Spending my first Christmas with _Jon_ ," Ryan says, reproachfully. "Doing nice, normal, Christmas vacation things in a cabin. Not worrying about _you_ , here all by _yourself_ , even though you could have just done this _one thing_ for me and spent Christmas Day with Jon's friend and spared me all this worry about you being alone on _Christmas_."

Spencer is beginning to be concerned by the amount of inflection Ryan's managing to convey. He normally saves it up for special occasions, like when he sees stupid people on the internet. "Jon's loser, lamer friend," Spencer points out, lamely.

"Brendon is _not_ a lamer. He's a really nice guy."

"With no fucking friends and nobody to spend Christmas with," Spencer pushes his way out of the front doors of his office and into the bitterly cold evening air. His nose is already cold. Spencer hates winter.

Ryan says nothing. Pointedly.

"I _hate_ Christmas," Spencer says. "You know this. I _choose_ to spend it the way I do-"

"-which is sitting on my couch playing video games, drinking my vodka, complaining about how crappy Christmas is and then passing out in my hallway."

"One time," Spencer points out. "That happened _one_ time. Anyway. I'm not ruining your Christmas just because I think that your idea is really fucking stupid." Spencer is not a total dick. Ryan—for all his idiosyncrasies and collection of ridiculous paisley scarves—has actually been really stupidly happy since he started dating Jon. Spending Christmas with Jon's lame-ass friend so that he and Ryan could go off and have their first Christmas together in a cabin in Vermont or whatever was a fucking stupid idea, but if it makes Ryan happy, well. Spencer will think about it.

There's a long pause. "You'll do it?" Ryan sounds faintly hopeful.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I'm coming to meet you, aren't I?"

"You're fucking _Scrooge_ , Spencer." But Ryan sounds delighted, which is not noticeably different to the way he normally sounds. Spencer's learnt to roll with the inflections over the years. "You are the second coming of the fucking _Grinch_."

"What-the-fuck-ever," Spencer says, but his cheeks are pinking.

"Grinch," Ryan says. Delightedly.

"Shut up," Spencer says. "I'm outside your store. Are you even coming down? Where are you?"

Spencer can _hear_ Ryan rolling his eyes. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Hurry up," Spencer says. "I'm bored of waiting."

"Jeez," Ryan says. "Why am I even friends with you?"

"Because I do stupid fucking things like agree to spend Christmas with Jon's loser friend just to keep you happy."

"Not listening," Ryan tells him. "I'm just going to put my coat on. See if you can see Jon. He should be there by now, can you see him?"

"No," Spencer says, without looking.

"At least _pretend_ to look," Ryan says. "He was meeting Brendon fifteen minutes ago."

"Jesus, the things I do for you."

"I'll be down in a minute," Ryan says with a huffed breath. "Look at the window displays so you can tell me how awesome I am when you see me."

"They're all _Christmassy_ ," Spencer starts, but Ryan hangs up. "Fucker," he says, under his breath.  


-o-

 

"This is a really _stupid_ idea," Brendon says, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets. Even with his mittens on, he's still got cold hands. He ducks his chin down into the folds of his scarf, and huddles down into his coat. "This is a stupid idea and I'm _cold_."

"No it isn't," Jon says, happily, bobbing his head in time to the Christmas buskers on the corner of the street by Ryan's store. "This is the perfect solution."

Brendon is kind of distracted by how little winter clothing Jon is wearing. Brendon had had to call him up earlier just to remind him not to leave his apartment in his flip-flops. "Are you warm enough?" he asks, tugging at Jon's sleeve to catch his attention.

"Sure," Jon says, easily, rocking back on his heels. He's pulling out a handful of change and leaving most of it for the buskers.

Brendon raises an eyebrow, throwing in a couple of dollars of change after Jon's. He's pretty sure that without him around, Jon would have _died_ by now or something. How he managed to survive twenty-something years, Brendon will never know. Jon's pretty much the reason Darwin figured out that whole survival of the fittest thing.

"I _am_ ," Jon says, defensively.

"Hmmmm," Brendon says. Brendon—because he is sensible, and because this is Chicago, and winter, and _cold_ —is wearing two pairs of socks, jeans, a shirt, his sweater, a hoodie and his coat. He's wrapped his scarf round three times and has his hat pulled down over his ears. His fingers are still numb even inside his wooly mittens.

Jon - because he is a dick, and stupid, and spends twenty three hours out of every twenty four thinking about Ryan Ross and not about hypothermia - is wearing a hoodie, a wooly hat with a tassel, jeans and sneakers. Without socks.

"You forgot your gloves," Brendon tells him. "Your hands will freeze and fall off. You will have _no hands_ , Jon Walker. How can you play the guitar with no hands? Where are your gloves?"

"I think I left them somewhere." Jon shrugs. "They'll turn up. And my hands are fine, Brendon."

They don't look fine to him. They look kind of _cold_. "Don't try and distract me with your _stupidity_ ," Brendon says, wistfully eyeing the Christmas tree in the window of the department store where Ryan works, "this hasn't stopped being a really stupid idea just because you're freezing to death on the sidewalk."

"Honestly, Bden, this is the perfect solution."

"For you and Ryan, maybe," Brendon says, touching his mitten to the glass. "I'll be fine, you know. You and Ryan can go off and have your Christmas cabin vacation without worrying about me. One Christmas by myself isn't going to kill me."

"It might kill _me_ , though," Jon says, nudging Brendon with his elbow. "Seriously. Spencer's Ryan's best friend. They've known each other since they were kids. Me and Ryan aren't going anywhere if it means either of you are going to be alone on Christmas."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Okay, okay. I'm in. Don't give me the sad eyes, I'm giving in-"

Jon's doing his best puppy-dog impression, which is really fucking stupid and even worse, always fucking works on Brendon. He rests his chin on Brendon's shoulder.

"Fine," Brendon says, laughing and pushing Jon away. "I'm in. Hold the first meeting of the Jon and Ryan Widows Association. Spencer and I will have a _ball_ without you. See if we care that you're off being all romantic and shit."

"That's my boy," Jon says, with a grin, standing back and putting his arms in the air, v for victory.

Brendon can't help but elbow him, rolling his eyes again. "Hey, you think Ryan did these windows? They're pretty awesome."

"Best window dresser in the business," Jon tells him, proudly.

Brendon wraps his arms around Jon's shoulders and laughs. "You're so in love," he says, pulling Jon's hat down so it covers his ears. "Totally lame. You're going to freeze to death, too."

-o-

 

"I'm not going to forget that you made me do this, you know," Spencer tells Ryan as they push their way through the shoppers and down the sidewalk. "When we're really fucking old and I can't remember my own name, I am still going to remember that you made me do this."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "You're babbling."

"Am not," Spencer says. He might have been. Sometimes he talks too much when he's annoyed. Or at work. Or on the phone to Ryan. "Did I mention this was a really fucking stupid idea?"

"Only once or twice," Ryan tells him, in an undertone. "Now be fucking nice, or I'll tell your mom about how you never wear the Christmas sweaters she sends you."

"You _wouldn't_ ," Spencer says. He's outraged. "Anyway, I do wear them."

"For the ten seconds it takes for me to take a picture on my phone."

"We're breaking up," Spencer tells him. "We are no longer best friends."

"Good," Ryan says. "My life is going to be so much easier from now on. Now shut up and be nice. I know you can be."

Spencer rolls his eyes, jabs Ryan underneath the ribs and pastes on the smile he wears when he has to meet with the girl from corporate design.

"That's the spirit," Ryan says, without breaking a smile, waving at Jon.

Spencer wants to kill him. Slowly. He doesn't, but only because Ryan will kill him back, and it will probably hurt more. Ryan's _bony_. He manages to nod across at Jon.

"Hi you," Ryan says, leaning over and kissing Jon on the corner of his mouth.

"Hi back," Jon says, curling his hand around Ryan's neck and tugging him closer for what looks like a _serious_ kiss. With tongues.

Spencer tries very, very hard not to roll his eyes. He does actually like Jon, and he _really_ likes Jon's stash, but even that isn't enough for him to enjoy seeing Jon and Ryan's public displays of kissing and groping and shit. "Guys," he says, carefully, stepping away because he has a long and detailed relationship with Ryan's elbows, and he normally ends up getting the crappier side of the deal. "Much as I'm sure it's been really hard being apart for what, eight hours, do you think we could, I don't know, go inside or something?"

The kid next to Jon, dressed up like a big, round colorful Michelin man in forty-three layers of winter clothing, claps his hand to his mouth and _giggles_.

Oh for fuck's sake, Spencer thinks. Ryan has got to be fucking kidding.

"Hi," the snowman says, and waves a mittened hand at him.

"Hi," Spencer says. He's trying to communicate with Ryan by mindmeld, saying _this is a fucking bad dream, right? You're fucking joking, yeah?_ But Ryan's just smiling happily at him, leaning his head against Jon's shoulder, his arms wrapped around Jon's waist.

"This is Brendon," Ryan says, without actually moving from where he's attached to Jon. "And this is Spencer."

"Cool, yeah," Brendon says, nodding his head. "Awesome."

He's wearing fucking _mittens_. Spencer hasn't seen anyone wearing mittens since he was like, six or something. And even then it was only the girls wearing them. Brendon's holding his hand out.

Ryan kicks Spencer in the ankle, and Spencer remembers just in time to hold his hand out and shake Brendon's hand. "Yeah," he says. "Like, _totally_ cool."

Brendon clearly doesn't get that Spencer's making fun of him, because he just beams and shakes Spencer's hand harder.

Spencer tries really fucking hard not to laugh. Later on, when he gets Ryan by himself, he's going to _kill him dead_.

"So," Jon says, leaning in and nuzzling Ryan's neck in a vaguely leery kind of manner, "let's get some food. Can we all say pizza?"

"Pizza," Ryan says, enthusiastically. Or disconcertedly. Spencer sometimes finds it hard to tell the difference.

Jon sneezes, and Brendon's looking concerned and hanging off his sleeve even before Jon's had a chance to wipe his nose.

"Is this because you're cold?" Brendon asks earnestly, tugging on Jon's hoodie. "You need a coat, Jon. You'll get sick."

Spencer blinks. In between Shnuckums and Pumpkin kissing on the sidewalk, they've got a six-year-old mitten-wearing _loser_ tagging along as well. "Maybe we should call an ambulance," Spencer says, seriously. "You should probably get that sneeze looked at."

Ryan kicks him in the shin and mouths _be nice_.

Spencer rolls his eyes. _Fine, fine, whatever_.

Jon ruffles Brendon's hair. "I'm fine," he says. "Don't worry."

Spencer decides he's going to spend the rest of the evening thinking up creative and ingenious ways to kill Ryan.

"You are being a _dick_ ," Ryan says in an undertone, a minute later. The Italian restaurant they're going to is just down the street from the store where Ryan works as a window dresser, but there are a lot of people around and it's taking them a long time to negotiate the sidewalk. "Could you just _try_ and be less antisocial?"

Spencer has graduated from thinking about creative ways to annoy Ryan to creative ways to have the entire human race put down. Christmas, he thinks, is the beginning of the end. "I hate Christmas," he says, pushing past a woman taking up the whole of the sidewalk with her shopping bags, "and I hate _people_."

Ryan elbows him in the side as they head into the restaurant. Jon and Brendon are in front of them, grinning at each other and peeling off their coats and hats. Brendon is taking off layer after layer and Spencer is kind of entranced by how many clothes he's actually wearing.

"Stop being such a fuckhead," Ryan says, nudging him into the wall. "Jeez, you are a nice guy, I know that. I thought you were going to do this thing for me, not act like a complete dick."

"I'm _here_ , aren't I? I'm meeting this guy, I'm going to spend Christmas Day with him so you and Jon can go off and do whatever, together." Spencer shakes his head, shrugging off his coat. "And what, you're calling me a fuckhead? What are we, twelve? He's got mittens on, you're calling me a fuckhead? You're lucky I'm still here."

"You could at least try and look like you're not here under sufferance." Ryan pokes him in the chest, rolling his eyes. "You're lucky I even put up with you every December."

Spencer sighs. "Ryan-"

Ryan rolls his eyes again. "I've heard it, okay? Christmas sucks, Christmas is the cause of everything bad in the world, Christmas eats babies, Christmas makes Spencer _miserable_ and act like a dick for one month out of every twelve. Yeah, I've heard it. Just, I don't know. Can you just try and be nice to him? He's a really good guy, you two could get along."

"He's an _idiot_ ," Spencer says, thinking about the mittens and the thirty-eight layers of knitted winter wear. "Just because he doesn't have anyone else to spend Christmas with, I've got to babysit him?"

"Um, guys," Brendon clears his throat. "The server says our table is ready."

Spencer sighs, and rubs at the bridge of his nose. December makes him antsy, people should _know_ that by now. Ryan should know that by now. It's not Spencer's _fault_ if other people don't know that.

Ryan punches him none-so-gently in the stomach as he walks by. "Make it up to him," he hisses, "or we really are breaking up."

Spencer rolls his shoulders to loosen them up, following Ryan and Brendon across the restaurant.

When he gets to the table, Brendon's already taken the seat by the window, sitting on his hands and laughing at something Jon's said that Spencer didn't catch. Jon's sitting opposite Brendon, breaking a breadstick into pieces and throwing them across the table so they hit Brendon on the nose. As Spencer sits down, Brendon's grinning and throwing them back, but his aim is pretty crappy and they're going everywhere.

"Guys," Ryan says, rolling his eyes and sitting down next to Jon, brushing breadstick out of his hair. "Enough. Do you want to get us thrown out? At least wait until we've eaten before destroying the place."

Brendon laughs again, and Spencer rolls his eyes. Nobody should be this happy, it's _inhuman_. Spencer wonders whether maybe Brendon is a robot. A laughing robot. Just in time for Christmas. He stifles a groan and slumps back in his seat.

Ryan kicks him under the table, and Spencer half-heartedly kicks back.

"Do you think it might snow again tonight?" Brendon's given up throwing breadsticks at Jon in favor of peering over the top of the booth and out the window into the street.

Spencer kind of feels _bad_ for him. Not bad like he does after he's yelled at the girl in corporate design, but like he did after he called Marjorie's grandkid ugly. Brendon seems like a nice guy. Fucking annoying, but nice. It's kind of sad he's such a loser.

"Maybe," Jon says, helping himself to another breadstick as Ryan slides over and under his arm. Ryan never used to be this tactile; growing up, Spencer had compared being friends with Ryan to being friends with a pointy, sharp thing that stung, kind of like a jellyfish but with edges. "Why, you want to go out and make snow angels again?"

"Not if you're not wearing a coat," Brendon says pointedly, eyeing Jon's hoodie. He still grins though, because Brendon seems incapable of saying anything without smiling.

Ryan is carefully crumbling a breadstick into pieces on a saucer, not taking his eyes off Spencer. His meditative destruction of bread products is kind of creepy, if Spencer thinks about it.

 _I'm being nice_ , Spencer says, with the power of his mind.

Ryan raises an eyebrow, and Spencer is once again reminded that mindmelding isn't _actually_ a means of communication.

"You want to make snow angels after, Ryan?" Brendon asks, leaning over the table and knocking Spencer's glass with his elbow.

The glass tips over, and luckily it's empty, but still. Spencer rolls his eyes and adds 'clumsy' to his mental list of why Brendon's annoying and this is a really stupid fucking idea.

"Sure," Ryan says, shrugging his shoulder and kicking Spencer again. "It'll be fun."

Spencer looks incredulous because Ryan hasn't done anything _fun_ in the whole of his adult life. Ryan gave up fun as soon as he was old enough to. Also, he's going to be covered in bruises and he's going to be billing Ryan for that, adding it to the mental list of _reasons Ryan owes him_. Spencer spends a lot of time compiling mental lists. He's an organized person. "You're going to make snow angels?" Spencer asks, because he can't not. Inside he's incredulous and also, sniggering. "Ryan Ross? You don't like it when it rains and you forget your umbrella. _You_ want to roll in snow?"

"Ryan's the best out of all of us," Brendon tells him.

Spencer can't help it, he starts to laugh.

"Hey," Jon says, "No fair. What about me?"

Brendon shrugs one shoulder. "Ryan's better than you," he says. "don't pretend like he isn't."

"I'll show you all," Jon says, decidedly. "I will prove all you non-believers wrong."

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says. "And next time, when you remember your coat, you can play too."

"Oh, come on," Jon says. "I'm fine. I don't need a coat."

"You don't need the flu just before Christmas either," Brendon says, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table, a syncopated rhythm Spencer can't quite follow. That annoys him, actually, because he plays the drums and the one thing he _should_ be able to do is follow a rhythm. He watches Brendon's fingers and tries to match the rhythm with his own against his knee.

"Brendon's right," Ryan agrees, tapping the table with his fingertips and smiling across at Brendon, startling Spencer away from the rhythm. "You're not ruining Christmas by getting the flu."

"Jon could borrow my coat," Spencer says, after a moment. Brendon jumps. "I mean. If he wanted."

Ryan blinks, but very carefully doesn't say a word.

"Oh," Brendon says, squaring his shoulders and turning to face him. "You don't want to make snow angels?"

"I haven't made one in _years_ ," Spencer says. There is no way he's making a snow angel. He's not a kid. He has a _retirement fund_ , for fuck's sake, something he's pretty sure Ryan doesn't have. Spencer should get on to sorting that out for him, otherwise Ryan's going to be growing old in a cardboard box on the street. Either that, or Spencer's going to be left paying Ryan's utility bills when they're old and grey.

Brendon laughs.

Spencer contemplates hitting him with a spoon to see if he laughs _then_. He doesn't, though, because actually, underneath it all, he's a nice person and against physical violence. And Brendon actually seems like a nice guy, although Spencer's not going to admit _that_ anytime soon.

"Spencer," Ryan explains, "is like the fucking Grinch. Spencer hates anything and everything to do with Christmas. Spencer is no _fun_ at all. Being friends with Spencer during December is like being friends with- well. Something that's no fun at all. It's like inviting Darth Vader to a party."

"I resent that," Spencer says, darkly. "Especially coming from you. You're hardly the king of fun yourself, Mister 'let's stay in and read poetry and talk about existentialism'." Spencer knows too much about existentialism. And utilitarianism, and fucking Wittgenstein. Spencer knows things about philosophy that he'd rather forget, but sometimes Spencer has to pay for Ryan's friendship in European philosophers. Ryan puts up with Spencer every December so it probably evens out somewhere down the line.

Brendon starts to laugh. Again.

Jon leans in and presses a kiss to Ryan's temple. "Don't listen to them," he says, "I like your poetry. And your weird French philosophy books."

Ryan rolls his eyes, but kisses Jon's cheek. "Glad to hear it," he says, and rests his head on Jon's shoulder.

"You two aren't going to sit there and make goofy faces at each other all night, are you?" Brendon nudges Spencer, as if he's getting Spencer to agree with him, "Because that would be pretty boring for us, right?"

"Sure," Spencer says, unwillingly nodding his agreement. It really kind of _would_ , plus he's spent far too many nights out having to put up with Ryan and Jon all over each other. "Honestly, aren't you two ever going to get out of that lovey dovey phase?"

"Fuck off," Ryan says, in between kissing Jon and flipping Spencer the bird.

"Both of you," Jon echoes, and Spencer can't help it, he joins in laughing when Brendon does.

Ryan—the bastard—shoots him an amused grin when he's finished making out with Jon.

-o-

 

"So, what's Spencer's childhood trauma?" Brendon asks, yawning and stumbling over a pile of Jon's laundry. He's dragging Jon's sleeping bag behind him and is clutching a pillow under his arm. Brendon's stayed over at Jon's so often that it's really Brendon's sleeping bag and Brendon's pillow, but Brendon lets Jon maintain the illusion of ownership if it works for him.

Jon's sprawled out on the couch in a pair of sweatpants and a different hoodie than the one he was wearing earlier. This is his sleep hoodie. Jon has many pre-defined hoodies, something that Brendon kind of finds endlessly amusing.

"What do you mean?" Jon asks, holding out his hands for Brendon to pass him a can of soda from the cooler by the coffee table.

"You know," Brendon says, shaking his head and pushing Jon's feet out of the way so he's got more room to sprawl across the couch, sleeping bag across his knees, "what's the beef? What's the lowdown? Why _does_ that kid hate Christmas? And I'm not giving you caffeine because you'll never sleep, and you have to get up at like, ass o-clock. If you want it, you can get it yourself. Or switch to beer."

Jon blinks. "I thought we talked about your use of the cool kids lingo. And how is switching to beer better?"

"I stopped calling you homie, right?" Brendon says, patiently, "And everybody knows beer puts you to sleep. Everybody in your apartment building knows beer puts you to sleep. They just step over you in the hallways now."

"One time," Jon says. Brendon raises an eyebrow. "Okay. Two. At the most."

"Whatever," Brendon says, reaching for the remote and flipping channels on Jon's TV, trying to find something to watch. "But really. Spencer. What's his deal? He _really_ hates Christmas. What's Ryan said about it?"

Jon shrugs, shifting so that there's room for them both on the couch, them and the bowl of M&Ms. "Ryan kind of-" he shrugs again, grabbing a handful of chocolate and picking out the yellow ones to eat first, like always. Jon is a creature of habit. "He kind of keeps Spencer close to his chest. We don't talk about him much."

"You are the worst best friend ever," Brendon points out, sticking his lower lip out into an accentuated pout. "You are _supposed_ to find out all the gory details and the gossip and the beef. You're trying to set me up with him for Christmas, the least you could do is figure out if he's going to freak out on me or whatever."

"We're not trying to _set you up_ ," Jon says, carefully. "We're trying to find a way for our two best friends to get along, so that _we_ can go away for Christmas and not have to worry about you both."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Brendon says, waving his hand around. "He's babysitting me, I'm babysitting him, yeah, I get it. He thinks I'm a loser, anyway."

"Brendon-" Jon starts.

Brendon's heard it all before. He waves his hand, _forget it_. He heard what Spencer said about him at the pizza restaurant. Even if he is a loser, and a lamer, he's not an idiot, and he's not deaf. And he's kind of used to people thinking he's a dick. He gives up with the TV and turns it off, then leans over and grabs Jon's laptop. "So you're not going to give, it's fine. I'll just figure Spencer Smith out all on my own. You gonna show the pictures of your Christmas cabin again, or what?"

Jon grins, but his eyes are worried.

"Come on, Jon Walker, show me the pictures." Brendon opens up Firefox. "Show me the hot tub and the balcony and the huge bed and the loveseat and-"

Jon nudges him in the side. "Sometimes I think you're more excited about our vacation than we are."

"Not possible," Brendon says, with a grin. "You seen yourself recently?"

Jon gets that dopey, stupid look on his face, the one that means he's thinking about Ryan. Brendon kind of likes Jon being this happy, and it totally makes up for him not being around at Christmas. It _does_. Jon being happy means that Brendon's happy too, and if it means seeing the promotional photographs for the hundredth time, then he'll take that.

-o-

 

"So," Ryan says, and Spencer rolls his eyes. He knows that tone of voice. Ryan wants something.

"So," Spencer echoes. He should never have picked up his cell when he saw Ryan's name on the caller ID. Spencer tends to avoid answering his phone throughout December, when he remembers, because it always means trouble.

"I was thinking," Ryan starts.

"Dangerous," Spencer fills in, automatically.

"Ha ha," Ryan says. "Very funny."

Spencer nods. It wasn't bad.

"You should come over later," Ryan goes on. "Bring a DVD. I've got beer."

"And?" Spencer says, carefully. December doesn't come for free.

"Jon's going to be here," Ryan says casually. "And Brendon, too."

"Fuck off," Spencer says. "No fucking way. Fuck." Sometimes Spencer thinks he swears too much. Most of the time he thinks he doesn't swear enough, particularly in December.

"It's just a movie," Ryan says, and Spencer can swear he hears him pout. Ryan's ability to inflect is just getting better and better. "A movie and beer and snacks. It'll be fun."

There's that F word again. Spencer is extra-cautious of the F word. Ryan has consistently avoided fun since his twelfth birthday. Now he seems to be embracing it. Spencer would be mad if Ryan didn't seem so happy all of a sudden. "He's a fucking loser," Spencer says, after a beat.

"And you're a fucking dick, and he's willing to put up with you. Jesus," Ryan goes on. "I am _this_ close to breaking up with you. You have no idea. It's only fucking Christmas, for fuck's sake. Not the fucking apocalypse."

"Fuck," Spencer says, after a moment. Ryan sounds really mad.

"I'm letting you pick the movie for now," Ryan says. "But in five seconds I'm calling Brendon and telling him he can. Five." He pauses. "Four-"

"Alright, alright," Spencer rubs his eyes. "I hate you."

"Likewise," Ryan says, but he sounds happy about it. Spencer does too much to make Ryan happy. It's depressing.

"I'm picking something where all the good guys die," Spencer says.

"Good. You know I like them." Ryan _does_. Spencer thinks he should pick better friends.

"Asshole," Spencer says, eyeing his DVD shelves.

"See you soon," Ryan tells him, and hangs up.

Spencer narrows his eyes and wrinkles his nose. Ryan is a sneaky, underhand, crappy, _fun-loving_ best friend. If it weren't for the fact that Spencer kind of loves him a whole lot, he'd totally be looking around for someone better.

-o-

 

"Jon's car is a heap of junk," Brendon says brightly, as soon as Ryan opens his door.

"Hey to you too," Ryan says.

Brendon waves hello and leans in to rest his chin on Jon's shoulder. He's just spent twenty minutes in Jon's car but it felt like much longer. The weather outside is freezing and Jon drives a car that has definitely seen better days. Better _decades_ , in fact. It's possible that at one stage it might have had a working heater, but it's so old and so battered that Brendon kind of refuses to believe that that's true.

Sometimes he tries to point out to Jon that owning a car with no working heater while living in Illinois isn't the brightest idea, but Jon's kind of attached to his stupid heap of junk. In a vague attempt to share body heat, Brendon had plastered himself to Jon's back as soon as they'd climbed out of the car. Jon had complained coming up the stairs to Ryan's apartment, but not enough to make Brendon stop and pull away. Brendon's pretty good at reading Jon's limits, and this isn't even close.

"A heap of _junk_ , Ryan Ross," Brendon says again. He pokes Jon in the back for good measure.

"Tell me something I don't know," Ryan says, amused. At least, Brendon thinks he sounds amused. Sometimes he can't tell. Ryan usually refuses to get in Jon's car though, on the grounds that he doesn't want to freeze to death, so Brendon's pretty sure that Ryan thinks that Jon should get a new car too. Jon always shakes his head and says he loves his car very much. Brendon's pretty sure that Jon's secretly looking around for something else, something with less of a tendency to freeze his passengers. This is yet another reason why Brendon thinks Ryan and Jon make the best couple ever.

"Hey you," Jon says, managing to roll his eyes and grin at the same time. Jon is a curious mix of endearing and cool, something Brendon's never quite managed to figure out.

"Hey yourself," Ryan says, cheeks pinking, and then Ryan's leaning in and pressing his mouth to Jon's.

Which is like, centimeters away from Brendon. He loves Jon and Ryan, but he doesn't love their close-ups.

"Ewww," Brendon says, ducking back into the hallway. "That was _too_ close, okay?" he says, with an exaggerated grimace. "You need to give a guy some warning before engaging in- in _that_."

"Kissing?" Ryan says, amused. He tugs Jon closer, into his apartment.

"Close-up kissing," Brendon points out, wrinkling his nose. "If I can see saliva, it's too close. You guys have got to start warning me for spit. Spit and _tongues_."

Jon buries his face in Ryan's neck and laughs. "What, _hey_ wasn't enough warning?"

"No," Brendon says, decidedly, "definitely not." He pushes them both further inside, kicking the door shut behind them. He grins and leans against Ryan's wall. "Anyway," he goes on, "where's _my_ kiss hello, huh, Ryan?" He points at his cheek, raising an eyebrow. "Come on."

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he dutifully leans in and presses a kiss to Brendon's cheek.

Brendon is totally the master. "My life is _complete_ ," He puts his hands over his heart. "I have been kissed by Ryan Ross, there is nothing else I could want to ask for."

"You are such a dick," Ryan says, but he's grinning, and Jon's laughing too.

"Takes one to know one," Brendon says, airily, peeling off his scarf, hat, coat and gloves, and his second hoodie. He wanders into Ryan's living room, dropping his stuff on the floor. "What are we watching tonight, anyway? Jon promised me Christmas movies and beer." He scrambles over the edge of Ryan's couch and takes obnoxious care in piling up all the cushions at one end—his end.

"Uh, well." Ryan clears his throat, leaning against the doorframe. Next to him, Jon shrugs off his coat, leaving it on the table by the door. He rubs Ryan's shoulders as he walks by, taking the seat on the couch next to Brendon.

"What," Brendon says, narrowing his eyes. "There's beer, right? Jon promised me beer. We brought snacks. You can't have snacks without beer." Jon has a bag full of Pringles and chips and M&Ms and microwave popcorn. Brendon has been looking forward to that.

"There's beer," Spencer says, coming in from the kitchen. He's carrying a six pack.

Brendon hadn't known he was going to be there. "Oh," he says, waving. He tries not to feel awkward. "Hey."

"Hey." Spencer says, nodding and depositing the beer on the coffee table. "There's beer. Ryan probably didn't tell you he was letting me pick the movie, though, right?"

"Something Christmassy?" Brendon says, hopefully, reaching for a beer.

Ryan shrugs, stepping over Brendon's feet to clamber over Jon and take the last remaining seat on the couch. Spencer gets the armchair all to himself. "Probably not. Spencer's idea of something Christmassy is _Die Hard 2_."

"There's _snow_ ," Spencer says, defensively. "And carols and shit."

" _Die Hard 2_ is Christmassy?" Brendon can't remember even seeing it. "It doesn't sound Christmassy."

"How have you not seen _Die Hard_?" Spencer asks. "That's like- that's pumped into kids in the womb, right?"

"Not me," Brendon says, shrugging his shoulders and plastering on a smile. "Grew up Mormon. Can probably recite more bible verse than you can, though."

Spencer just wrinkles his nose. "Right," he says. "Sure."

"Useful for crosswords," Brendon points out, helpfully. If there was a prize for being the stupidest stupid person in the stupid room, Brendon thinks he might just have won it. Spencer makes him feel really lame.

"Crosswords," Spencer nods, slowly. "Okay."

"Right," Ryan says, as brightly as he can. Brendon thinks he's holding on to Jon's hand pretty tightly. He kind of wishes he was, too. "What great piece of movie history have you brought with you, Spence?"

Brendon wants it to be something good. He wants it to be something really good. He's holding out for some little piece of Christmas history. He'd settle for _A Charlie Brown Christmas_.

" _Star Wars_ ," Spencer says. He starts to pick the label off his bottle of beer.

"Okay," Jon says, after a beat, nodding. "It's not what you'd naturally think of at Christmas, but it's a good movie."

"Yeah," Brendon agrees, quickly. He doesn't want Spencer to think he's lame. "It's a great movie. Great at all times of the year, in fact. Excellent at Christmas. Good choice." He's never actually seen _Star Wars_. He knows he's the only person in the history of the known universe not to have seen it, but he _hasn't_ , so. It's still easier not to admit it.

"Exactly," Spencer says, and goes to get the DVD. Brendon suspects that Spencer's barely managing to hold back his eye roll. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions and wonders how crappy Spencer's Christmas is going to be, stuck celebrating with Brendon.

While they're waiting for Spencer to get the DVD out of his bag, they flick through the channels. They end up watching the Discovery channel on Ryan's big TV, and Brendon watches in ill-disguised horror as a six foot monitor lizard kills a monkey, in lurid Technicolor right in front of them.

"Um," Brendon manages, after a moment. "That was traumatic."

"Killed the Christmas spirit officially dead," Ryan agrees, and changes the channel.

"Spencer," Brendon yelps. "This would be a good time for _Star Wars_. Right about now."

"Seconded," Ryan says, loudly. "We've just accidentally killed Christmas."

When Spencer comes back in with the DVD, he's laughing. "I leave you guys alone for _two seconds_ ," he says, "and you kill Christmas. You can't even try and blame me for that. Don't even try. I was out of the room."

"It wasn't you," Brendon explains, because Brendon believes that blame should be fairly attributed, "it was the monitor lizard. It killed the monkey."

To his credit, Spencer only looks confused for a moment. "Right," he says. "Of course."

When Brendon looks up, half way through the film, he thinks he catches Spencer watching him. Spencer looks away though, fixes his attention back on the screen. Brendon wonders if he imagined it.

-o-

 

"This is going to be a disaster," Spencer says, confidently.

"Shut up," Ryan says.

"No, really." Spencer nods his head. "A disaster. Of epic proportions."

"You are really not helping," Ryan tells him. He's struggling with his oven door, trying to wrestle it open so he can get to the Vegetarian Christmas Surprise before it burns.

"I am," Spencer tells him. "I'm providing a valid commentary to this total disaster. When you remember the time you set your kitchen on fire trying to make Christmas dinner, you'll remember my voiceover. It'll be funny."

"Spencer," Ryan says. "If you ever want me to speak to you again, you will help me get this oven door open."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You're spoiling my fun, Ryan. It's so much more entertaining watching you struggle."

"Spencer," Ryan says, again. Sharply. "You are going to eat this amazing, fantastic, wonderful, delicious dinner that I have spent hours preparing, even if it is on fire and you have to put it out with your bare hands, so the quicker you get your ass over here and _help_ , the better your dining experience is going to be."

"You're such a killjoy," Spencer says. "Move, let me try."

Spencer isn't convinced that having an early Christmas dinner for just the four of them is a particularly good idea, especially considering that Ryan's a terrible cook, Jon's recently come into some good weed and has therefore been less than useless for the past few days, Brendon's a vegetarian and Spencer hates everybody because it's Christmas. Ryan, however, is doggedly determined that it's going to be a success, an act of self-delusion that Spencer simultaneously finds endearing and utterly ridiculous.

"I think we're just going to have to watch it burn," Spencer says, conversationally. "Look, I think it's going black at the edges."

"No," Ryan says, "It is not going black at the edges. That's a trick of the light. Everything is going to be perfect."

Spencer doesn't think that laughing right now is going to go over particularly well. He tugs a little harder at the broken oven door. He's not going to be particularly upset at the loss of a dish Ryan keeps referring to as his 'Vegetarian Christmas Surprise', especially since Ryan was the one preparing it. It isn't that Ryan is a bad cook; it's more that he attempts things that are far too complicated.

Five minutes later, and Ryan is poking at his Vegetarian Christmas Surprise in a desultory manner.

"It could still be okay," Spencer says in a worryingly bright voice. Ryan is looking sad, and Spencer doesn't like it when Ryan looks sad. It makes him feel bad about himself. "I'm looking forward to eating it." He isn't. He wasn't when it resembled food, but now that it looks like a gloopy mess he's even less inclined to sit down and eat it.

Ryan eyes him. "You are a very bad liar."

"I am not," Spencer says, affronted. "I am a very good liar." He blinks. "Not that I'm lying _now_." He's saved from having to defend himself further by the doorbell. "That'll be Jon and Brendon," he says brightly. "I'll go and let them in."

"Jon will _break up with me_ ," Ryan shouts after him. "Brendon will never speak to me again. This is a _disaster_."

"Ryan's having a meltdown," Spencer says confidentially, as he opens the door.

"I am _not_ ," Ryan shouts from the kitchen.

"He is," Spencer says. "He's cooked an amazing meal that unfortunately looks and smells a little like cat puke and he's afraid that you're going to break up with him."

"I'm not going to break up with him," Brendon says confidently. He starts to take off his many layers, dumping them on the floor by the door. Spencer's never seen anyone own such a variety of scarves and hats and gloves.

"How much like cat vomit?" Jon asks, in a low voice.

"A lot," Spencer replies, in an equally low voice.

Jon grimaces. "Okay," he says softly. Then, louder, "Ryan. I brought chocolate. Come here and ravish me."

Ryan pokes his head around the kitchen door. "Chocolate?" he says.

Jon waves three bags of M&Ms.

"Okay," Ryan says, vaguely less miserably. "Let me wash up. Then you can feed them to me, one by one."

"Oh, _gross_ ," Brendon says, wriggling his nose. Even his nose wriggling is annoying, Spencer thinks.

"How did you know to bring chocolate?" Spencer asks Jon.

Jon shrugs. "Vegetarian Christmas Surprise, Spence? The clue was kind of in the title."

Later on, when they're all crowded round Ryan's table, and Spencer's staring down at his plate in a mix of horror and sheer unadulterated disgust, he wonders if he can feign some sort of terrible last minute stomachache.

"This looks great," Brendon says, beaming.

Spencer decides that Brendon is certifiably insane. That has to be it.

"Yeah," Jon agrees, helplessly. "It looks, um, amazing."

Everyone is staring at _him_. Spencer blinks. "Um," he says. He doesn't think saying, _it smells less like cat throw-up now I've gotten used to it_ is going to be a good idea. He settles for saying "mmm," in a hearty voice.

"Good," Ryan says, after a pause. "I saved you a second helping, Spence."

"Good," Spencer echoes. "That's, um, great."

Brendon—because he's there to make Spencer's life more difficult—laughs. "We should have a toast," he says.

Spencer tries to swallow a large piece of - um, eggplant? It's fucking _raw_ , whatever it is—and reaches for his glass. There cannot be enough wine, he thinks, there cannot be enough fucking _alcohol_ in December. "Go for it," he says.

"To Christmas," Brendon says, beaming. "To Christmas, and to friends-" he doesn't make eye contact with Spencer, and Spencer suddenly feels kind of shitty, just for a moment, "and to Jon and Ryan, because it's _their_ first Christmas together, and to Ryan for cooking this amazing Christmas dinner."

Spencer eyes Brendon, but Brendon doesn't stop grinning. He almost sounds like he means it about Ryan's cooking. Spencer knew he was crazy, but this is almost certifiable.

Ryan kicks him under the table, and belatedly Spencer joins in with the toast. "To Christmas," he says, and Ryan grins at him.

"Wasn't that hard, was it?" he says.

"Shut up," Spencer says. Fucking Christmas.

Even Jon laughs.

Spencer brought dessert; a big lemon cheesecake from the bakery near his office building. he can't help being appalled when he goes into the kitchen to get it and he sees what Ryan's done to his perfect dessert. Ryan's tried to make it vaguely seasonal by decorating it with a _Merry Christmas_ sign and an assorted collection of little Santas.

"What is this shit, Ryan?" he shouts from the kitchen. "You have Christmas-ified the cheesecake."

"That's not a word, Spence," Ryan calls back, "you know how made up words upset me."

"Fucking Santa Claus," Spencer says, poking at his cake. He can't even take them off again, because then there will be little Santa footprints all across the cake and that would just be weird.

"Stop complaining," Ryan says, coming into the kitchen and leaning against the counter. "You sound like a broken record."

Spencer points savagely at his cheesecake. "Christmas, Ryan Ross. There is Christmas on my cake."

"We're having Christmas _dinner_ , Spence. Are you stupid?"

Spencer shrugs. "Maybe?"

"You're a fucking idiot," Ryan says, and he almost sounds like he cares. He bumps hips with Spencer, coming to lean against the counter next to him.

"Brendon's the fucking idiot," Spencer says, automatically. He pokes at the fat Santa in the middle of his cake.

"Shut up, already," Ryan says, grabbing Spencer's hand. "And stop poking him, he'll fall over. Christmas isn't Christmas if Santa's passed out face-first in the cheesecake."

"Whatever." Spencer wrinkles his nose. "I still can't believe I'm doing this for you, Ryan. I'd be better off spending Christmas by myself than with him."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "If I didn't know you didn't mean that, I'd punch you in the fucking face."

"Brendon!" Jon calls from the living room, "where the fuck are you?"

"Bathroom," Brendon calls back, his voice muffled.

Spencer narrows his eyes and pokes Santa till he falls over.

—

After they've finished the cheesecake and Spencer's finished fighting with Brendon for the crumbs, Jon and Ryan take over the couch and start feeding each other the remains of Jon's M&Ms.

"Oh my fucking god," Spencer says, after Ryan bites one in half and makes Jon eat the other half. "My eyes."

"Mine too," Brendon says, slapping his hands over his eyes.

Ryan flips them both the finger. "You guys just can't appreciate true love," he says.

"Awww," Jon says, and he holds up another M&M. "Half each, Ry?"

"That's it," Spencer says, standing up. "I'm doing the dishes. Right now. For a very long time."

"Spence, Spence, you can't leave me here alone with them. Take me with you," Brendon says, jumping up.

"Sure," Spencer says, after a beat. "It says something when doing the dishes is preferable to spending time with you, Ryan," he shouts after him, heading down the hallway into the kitchen.

From behind him, he hears Ryan laughing, Jon starting a moment later. If Spencer didn't know better, he thinks darkly, he'd think that Ryan just set that whole thing up. Ryan is an evil criminal mastermind. An _overlord_.

"I think Ryan might be evil," Brendon says, following him into the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes.

"It's a theory," Spencer says shortly. He actually has the whole theory outlined at home, with footnotes and different colored headers. If he ever went back for a graduate degree, he thinks he could do a whole thesis on Ryan's evilness. Sixty four thousand words plus a bibliography, he thinks, that'd be pretty easy. He could do presentations with _slides_.

"So," Brendon says, a few minutes later. He's wearing Ryan's rubber gloves, and Spencer's drying and putting the dishes away.

"Yeah?" Spencer says.

"Christmas," Brendon says. "Ryan and Jon have been pretty forceful, yeah?"

Spencer shrugs. "Kind of. Ryan's pretty stubborn."

"They've got it into their heads that I'd be spending Christmas alone," Brendon goes on. "Like I don't have people I turn down every year to spend it with Jon, or something."

"Oh?" Spencer asks. He feels awkward, but he doesn't quite know why.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Like, there's this big house party my friends are throwing. They've invited me up there but I'd have to leave first thing Christmas Eve to go."

"Yeah," Spencer echoes. He dries a plate, and then another.

"I said no," Brendon says, scrubbing at a bowl. "Because I didn't want to let Jon and Ryan down, you know? But I figured, maybe you did the same? Maybe you said no to something, like I did, something with your friends."

Spencer nods. His parents invited him to Europe with them, to go see his sisters who were studying in France for the year. His friends- he doesn't have many friends in December. He tends to pick them up again in January. "Sure," he says. "Yeah. Sure I did. And, you know. I don't like Christmas much."

"I figured," Brendon says, with a smile. He looks kind of awkward. "So. We're both doing this just to make Ryan and Jon happy."

"I guess so," Spencer agrees.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "So we both have these other things we could be doing. But I don't want to upset Jon."

"Me neither," Spencer says. "Ryan, I mean. He won't go away with Jon if he thinks we're not going to be spending Christmas together. Like, he doesn't get that we both have other things we could be doing."

"I'd hate for them not to go," Brendon says. "Jon's been planning this forever."

"Maybe," Spencer starts. "Maybe we could just—not tell them."

"You mean, not spend Christmas together but tell them we did?" Brendon says slowly.

Spencer nods. He feels kind of— _sad_. He feels like he's letting Ryan down. "Sure," he says, after a while. "You could go see your friends. We could tell them after, so they won't have a chance to worry. You know, unnecessarily."

"Yeah, because they're kind of stupid about us, right?" Brendon smiles, but it looks kind of forced.

Spencer swallows and nods. "So that's agreed then. We do our own thing at Christmas."

Brendon nods. "We can tell them the truth at New Year's," he says. They're all supposed to be spending New Year's Eve together at Ryan's.

"Yeah," Spencer agrees. He dries a couple more plates and then fiddles with the CD player on the shelf, turning up an old Weezer CD until it's too loud for them to talk over.  
Brendon wakes up late in the morning. He pulls on another pair of socks because it's cold in his apartment, wandering out of the bedroom and into the living room, tugging on his hoodie. There's a message from Jon on his phone, one that says _next year im cooking xmas dinner. promise_. Brendon grins and texts back, _I liked it_.

Jon just sends him a smiley face back.

He gets a glass of water and puts the coffee machine on; he's been making noises about getting one that actually works, one that promises espressos and froth and whip and makes him lattes. He thinks if he's really careful with money and he can hold out until his birthday, he might be able to afford one; he's been saving up for a while. If he can pick up another class or two at the community center during the week, maybe he can get it sooner—he's pretty sure he could take on some of the pre-school classes and not have it interfere with his current schedule.

Brendon teaches music three mornings a week to adults with learning disabilities; he loves it, but he ends up spending most of his time worrying about funding and where they're going to get their instruments from each year. He spends the rest of his time working in a bookstore so he's got enough money to eat. Every time he speaks to his parents they tell him he should get a real job, one that pays _real_ money.

Brendon's not sure he could find a job he likes as much as the one at the community center, but it's not like there's much of a chance of them upping his hours any time soon.

He makes do with heating some milk on the stove and making the coffee half and half. He dumps a pile of sugar in his mug, just because he's cold and he kind of needs the incentive. He'd gone shopping for Christmas decorations the day before, and the bags are still by the front door, right where he'd left them.

He'd gotten back to the apartment with barely enough time to change his sweater and pick up the bottles of wine he was taking over to Ryan's before Jon had called to say he was waiting outside. Jon couldn't ever come upstairs when he drove over; there wasn't much chance of him getting the car started again if he didn't keep the engine running.

Somehow the idea of decorating his apartment doesn't seem quite as much fun this morning as it had the night before.

He'd even bought Spencer a stocking, a stupid red thing with a reindeer on the front and little bells hanging off the antlers. He folds it up carefully and puts it in a bag that he kicks under his bed.

It's okay, Brendon tells himself.

He hangs tinsel over the window and the curtain rail, wrapping lights across the mantel and over the door, balancing precariously on a kitchen chair. He sits his toy reindeers down by the wall under the window. He's had them since he was a kid, someone gave them to the family and Brendon had claimed them before his mom and dad could throw them out. He'd sent his parents a package this year, with cards and a present. They don't celebrate Christmas much; they're busy at church.

He spends the rest of the morning cutting out Santa hats and snowflakes to decorate his apartment.

Jon drops by after lunch, heaving an enormous Tupperware container and looking apologetic. "Ryan's giving out the Vegetarian Christmas Surprise leftovers," he says, trying not to trip over Brendon's discarded decorations. "You need a hand with decorating the place?"

"Oh, gimme," Brendon says, making grabby hands at the Tupperware. He'd genuinely liked Ryan's veggie Christmas food, and he's peeling back the lid and heading into the kitchen to grab a fork before Jon's even shrugged out of his hoodie and peeled off his scarf.

"You liked it, huh?" Jon asks, leaning against the doorframe. He's got a handful of tinsel in his hands, and he drapes it on top of the fridge.

"Uh-huh," Brendon nods, leaning back against the counter and digging in to the leftovers. He'd forgotten breakfast. "As Christmas dinners go, it was pretty good."

Jon elbows him. "But not as good as the one you're planning for you and Spencer, right?"

Brendon shrugs. He'd gotten himself a cookbook from the bookstore and he'd maybe bookmarked a few of the recipes, but whatever. Just because they were Christmas recipes didn't mean he couldn't have them all year around.

"Brendon?" Jon asks. "You okay?"

"Sure," Brendon says, remembering to grin. "Just thinking about what I'm going to cook Spencer. It's going to be amazing, Jon, you and Ryan are going to be totally jealous. You're going to wish you were here. It's going to be pretty awesome."

"Yeah," Jon says. He pokes Brendon in the side with two fingers, so that when Brendon squirms away, he bumps into the stove. "It's not going to be the same, you know. Christmas without you."

"Pffft," Brendon manages, elbowing Jon. "Like you'd rather be here than away with Ryan. You've been looking forward to this forever."

"Yeah," Jon has that look in his eyes again, the one that means he's thinking about Ryan. Jon's face gets that look a lot; it makes Brendon smile. "Maybe next year we'll go away for New Year's instead, spend Christmas together here."

"Sure," Brendon says. He kind of wishes that's what Jon and Ryan were doing _this_ year, but, he doesn't get everything he wishes for. He'll be okay. "You want something to drink? There's some coffee left."

"I'm alright," Jon says. "Hey, you want me to drive you to the grocery store? I've seen those lists you've been making. It'll be easier than taking the bus."

"Nah," Brendon says, with a shrug. "It'll be fine."

"No, honestly," Jon says. "It wouldn't be a hassle. I'll give you a ride. We could go now."

"Really," Brendon says, helplessly. "It's fine."

Brendon ends up texting Spencer when Jon's in the bathroom. _if ryan asks im cooking for u_ @ _xmas_.

He gets a reply when he's waiting for Jon to get the car started. _ok but ryan thinks im bringing dessert_.

 _cool_ , Brendon texts back. He plasters a smile on his face and goes to bang on Jon's windshield. "You sure your car can make it to the grocery store, Jon?"

Jon flips him off, and Brendon laughs.  


-o-

 

Brendon's been texting Spencer kind of a lot. _If jon asks we're watching movies 2gether xmas day_ and _u like tofurkey? told jon that's what i was making._

"Is that Brendon again?" Ryan asks, half inside his closet.

"Yeah," Spencer says, texting Brendon a quick _yeah, sure_ and sliding his phone into his back pocket. "About Christmas dinner, you know. If I like tofurkey."

Ryan throws another pile of clothes onto his bed. "You hate tofurkey."

"I don't," Spencer tells him, pushing Ryan's clothes to one side so he can sit down on the bed. "I just fucking hate Christmas marketing."

"And Christmas," Ryan reminds him. "Don't forget you hate Christmas. And puppies. Rainbows. Babies."

"Shut up," Spencer says, throwing one of Ryan's sweaters at Ryan's head. "I'll send you to Vermont with the ugliest fucking set of clothes, seriously."

"You're supposed to be helping, Spence."

"I am helping," Spencer says, lying back on the bed. "I'm providing sartorial advice from the comfort of your own bed." His phone buzzes in his back pocket..

"Brendon again?" Ryan asks. He's grinning, the fucker.

Spencer's totally packing all of Ryan's ugliest clothes when Ryan's not looking. "You know what Brendon's Christmas menu is missing?" he says, mutinously. "Veggie Christmas Surprise. Just think, Ryan. We'll be having a Christmas dinner that doesn't look like cat hurl. Imagine that."

"You said you liked my Veggie Christmas Surprise," Ryan says, throwing another pile of clothes onto the bed and narrowly missing Spencer's head. Spencer's not entirely sure that wasn't deliberate.

"I said I liked that rose vest you used to wear, too." He sticks his tongue out. "Told you I was a good liar."

"You're the worst best friend in the history of best friends," Ryan says. "Why are we even friends?"

"Because I do your packing for you," Spencer points out. "And I sort out your retirement fund. Did you get a chance to look at any of those pamphlets?"

"It's Christmas, Spence," Ryan tells him, pointedly.

Spencer raises his eyebrows. "And?"

"You need to stop working. I'll sort it out in January, okay?"

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You'd better. I'm not bailing you out when you're eighty and poor. I'm really not. I'm just going to wave at you from inside the retirement village. Throw you crumbs through the gates," he says, dodging Ryan's elbow. "Come on," he grins, "Let's get you packed."

It takes two hours, and Spencer spends most of that time reassuring Ryan that his vacation (and his relationship) isn't going to go wrong at the last minute. Ryan panicking is vaguely unusual. Underneath his amusement, Spencer is kind of happy that Ryan and Jon are so invested in each other.

"I've never been away on a vacation with, well, someone before," Ryan bemoans, sinking down on his bed after Spencer's finally got Ryan's suitcase zipped. "What if I screw it up?"

"You won't," Spencer says. Normally he's at least a _little_ more adept at offering advice and support, but firstly, it's December and Spencer's default setting is cranky, and secondly, they've been having this same conversation for two hours. "You won't screw it up, you won't do Christmas wrong, Jon will still love you even after spending a few days in a cabin in Vermont with you, Jon won't miss Brendon too much, and if he does, you'll be home soon, I will be okay without you. Me and Brendon have a really fucking cool Christmas planned and we won't miss you at all, okay? And if you miss us, then at least we're all spending New Year's Eve together." Spencer very carefully does not point out how he wasn't looking forward to New Year's Eve at all. Or Christmas, actually. It was one thing hating Christmas, but another to spend it by yourself, with no one to complain to.

Ryan looks vaguely mollified. "Okay," he says.

"Fucking _finally_ ," Spencer says.

"But, you'd still have a better Christmas if I were here, right?"

Spencer blinks, then leans over and flicks Ryan in the forehead. "You're a fucking idiot," he says shortly, "and you're lucky I love you, or I would seriously have to break your face."

"You're my best friend too," Ryan says.

"Good," Spencer says.

"Oh," Ryan says, after Spencer's rolled onto his back and poked Ryan in the side a few times for good measure. "Brendon left your gift here by accident. It was in with his presents for Jon."

"What?" Spencer asks, sitting up on his elbows.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Brendon brought over some gifts he didn't want Jon to know about, you just packed them, but he must have put your gift in there by accident or whatever. You'll be opening your gifts together, right?"

"Right," Spencer says, stupidly. It hadn't even crossed his mind to get Brendon anything.

Ryan elbows Spencer. "You'd better have bought him something good, Spence. He's making you a pretty amazing Christmas dinner, Jon told me all about it."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says. His stomach kind of aches.

Ryan leans over the side of the bed and pulls out a bag. Inside is a squishy, gift-wrapped bundle, wrapped in gift wrap with penguins on it and tied up with ribbon. There's a tag too, written in purple sparkly pen. Normally, Spencer would have thought that was lame and been vocal about it; now though, he just feels kind of bad about it.

"I mean it," Ryan says. "You'd better have bought him something good. I'll check."

"Shut up," Spencer says. "I have. It's good."

He hasn't.

-o-

 

Brendon stays up late, making paper chains in front of the TV. He calls his mom and dad, and talks to them for a few minutes, asking them about the rest of his family and their plans for the next few days. They seem pleased to hear from him, which is nice, but they don't issue a last-minute Christmas Day invite. He wishes them a Merry Christmas. After he hangs up, he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a minute until he feels better.

Jon calls him twice. The first time he complains about how his suitcase is too full of Ryan's presents to fit any of his clothes. The second time, he's checking up on him.

Brendon's still troubled about Jon's lack of warm clothing. "You did pack sweaters, didn't you?" he asks. "And scarves and warm socks and stuff? If you die of hypothermia, I'll kill you myself."

Jon laughs. "Bden. Seriously, how much time do you think Ryan and I are actually going to be spending with our clothes _on_?"

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Just don't freeze to death, okay?" He taps his fingers against his knee. He's all for nakedness, so long as there's no risk of freezing.

"We won't. Promise."

"Good," Brendon says, decisively.

"I'd better go," Jon says, regretfully.

"Yeah?" Brendon tries his best to hide his disappointment. He's trying really hard to be grown up about this, but Jon's his best friend, and he's never really spent Christmas in Chicago without him.

"Yeah," Jon says. "Because I'm kind of outside your front door, asshole, so you'd better come let me in."

Brendon hangs up and stumbles across the room to the front door, tugging it open. "What are you doing here?" he asks, without letting Jon say anything.

Jon shrugs, pulling Brendon into a one-armed hug. "Brought you your present," he says, holding out a big bag. "Figured I'd come over and put it under your tree."

"You've got to be at the airport at ass-o-clock in the morning," Brendon tells him.

"Like I haven't managed on a couple of hours sleep before," Jon scoffs. "Now let's play playstation, okay?"

Brendon grins.

-o-

 

Spencer ends up going shopping for Brendon's present really fucking early on Christmas Eve. He thought he'd miss the crowds but it seems like everybody in the state of Illinois left their Christmas shopping to the very last minute. In between berating everyone for their lack of organizational skills and their frenzied, crazed expressions, he barges his way into store after store, trying to find something even vaguely suitable for Brendon.

He doesn't have a clue where to start and if he didn't already hate Christmas, going shopping on Christmas Eve would have been enough to make him start. He'd call Ryan to bitch about all the stupid people out shopping this early on December 24th, but he can't because Ryan's half way across the country on a fucking vacation, making cow-eyes at Jon and being all cutesy and annoying. He can't even call him and ask for help in picking something out for Brendon, because then Ryan would know that Spencer had lied when he said he'd already bought Brendon's present. No, he has to deal with this one on his own.

Spencer grits his teeth and tells himself that he is, in fact, an adult capable of braving the stores on Christmas. He can find something for Brendon without committing homicide, either.

It's a pretty close call.

He finds a DVD box set in the sixth store he tries, and the movies look Christmassy and lame enough that Brendon would like them. He also slips in a copy of _Die Hard 2_ because, really, he can't believe that Brendon's never seen it.

He ends up spending twenty minutes in the line for gift wrapping at the mall, tapping his feet and turning the volume up on his iPod. He found himself humming along to Jingle Bell Rock in the DVD store and as a punishment, he's listening to The Ramones as loudly as he can stand it. The woman in front of him keeps turning around and glaring, but Spencer can glare back with the best of them. He'd even fold his arms if he weren't clutching the biggest coffee Starbucks offered, blowing across the top of it to cool it. He wishes that caffeine worked by osmosis. He wishes he were _warmer_ , then he wouldn't have to use his coffee cup as a hot water bottle.

After he's finally done, he takes a deep breath and heads across the freezing parking lot to his car. He hopes he's not too late and he manages to catch Brendon before he sets off for his Christmas party. Ryan would kill him, or something. Spencer's secretly more fearful of the _something_. Ryan has strange dreams.

Brendon's street is busy and noisy with people. Spencer ends up parking a few blocks away, and walking the five minutes to Brendon's apartment. He keeps glancing at his watch; it's already ten thirty. If Brendon's party starts at lunchtime, he probably already left.

Spencer is seriously afraid of Ryan and his elbows.

Plus, you know. He's got a gift for Brendon now. It would suck to not be able to hand it over.

Brendon's building doesn't have an elevator that _works_. Spencer thinks he would have resorted to setting up camp outside the super's door by now if he lived there, but Brendon apparently has some sort of sangfroid that Spencer's missing. Spencer puffs up seven flights of steps and knocks on Brendon's front door.

"Hey," Spencer says, when Brendon opens the door. "I wanted to make sure you got this before you went over to your friends' place." He holds his gift out.

Brendon's still wearing his pajama pants with a big Christmas hoodie on over the top. His hair is poking in different directions and he's wearing his glasses.

"Oh, right," Brendon says. He takes Spencer's gift.

They both just stand there.

Spencer wants to check his watch. He's pretty sure that Brendon said he'd be busy all Christmas Eve. He doesn't look busy.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Spencer asks, after a minute. He doesn't know why he's pushing, especially since now that he's handed his gift over Ryan doesn't have any reason for killing him in his sleep. Brendon _did_ say he'd have to be off early in the morning though. Brendon really doesn't look like he's in much of a rush.

"Um," Brendon says. "I'm kind of busy."

"Packing?" Spencer asks. He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, trying to peer around the door without looking like he's nosing around.

"Yeah," Brendon says, quickly, nudging the door further closed. "That's right. Packing. For my big Christmas with all my friends. Like, I don't want to throw you out or anything but I'm running kind of late, so. Thank you so much for your gift. I hope you have a nice Christmas."

Spencer's left out in the hallway, staring at Brendon's closed front door. He doesn't believe him. He goes outside to his car and calls Ryan. "Dude," he says, "What are the names of Brendon's friends?"

"Jon," Ryan says carefully. "And Ryan."

"Don't be a dick," Spencer says. "His other ones. The ones with the Christmas party."

There's a long silence. "Brendon's kind of-" Ryan says, softly. "Sometimes he says stuff. Like, he knows people think he's a loser? So he tries to pretend like he's not."

Spencer looks out of the car window, craning his neck so he can see up to Brendon's apartment. He thinks the lights are on, but he can't tell, not really. "What happened to his family?" Spencer asks, after a beat.

"He still sees them," Ryan says slowly. "You know. But they don't invite him home for the holidays."

Spencer nods. His chest feels tight. "I think I kind of fucked up, Ry," he says. "I think I fucked things up."

"We're in fucking Vermont, Spence," Ryan says. He sounds almost desperate. "Jon's not going to be able to get a flight back."

"I'll sort it out," Spencer says, quickly. "You don't have to fly back. You guys should have a good Christmas. I'll fix this. It'll be okay."

"Jon's all that Brendon's got," Ryan says. "We trusted you with him."

Spencer feels like a total _asshole_. "I'll fix it," Spencer tells him. "I promise."

Spencer can hear Ryan breathing. He doesn't say anything.

"I _will_ ," Spencer says.

"Jesus," Ryan says. "I'm trusting you. Don't fucking let me down, Spence. Like, this isn't even a joke anymore. Just, don't. Jon will kill you even if I don't."

Spencer nods. "I'll take care of it."

"You'd better," Ryan tells him. "Jon's coming back, I've got to go. I'll call you later. Make it better, Spence."

After Ryan's hung up, Spencer shuts his eyes for a moment. He hits his head off the headrest and reaches for his phone again, scrolling through his contacts until he gets to Brendon's number.

"Hey," he says, when Brendon picks up. "I'm such a dick," he says, "I forgot to drop off part of your gift. I need to go and pick it up from my apartment. Are you still going to be around in an hour?"

There's a long pause. "I- I don't know," Brendon says. "I don't want to be late."

"I'll hurry," Spencer says. "Will you wait?"

"Okay," Brendon tells him, after a beat. "I guess."

Spencer's got an hour to make it better and no idea how to do it.

-o-

 

When his bell rings again, Brendon carefully straightens his shoulders and plasters on a smile as he opens the door. He's dressed and he's heaved his suitcase out into the hallway from where it was stored at the top of his closet. "Hey, Spence."

"Hey," Spencer says, and he sounds kind of awkward. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Brendon says, after a beat. "I don't have that much time, though."

"Your friends," Spencer says, nodding.

Brendon moves aside to let Spencer in. Spencer wipes his feet on the mat. It says _welcome home!_ in big curly letters. Jon bought it for him when he'd first moved in.

"Yeah," Spencer goes on. "I know."

"Yeah," Brendon echoes, lamely. "I don't want to be late."

Spencer nods at him. He's carrying a shopping bag, which he leans up against the wall by Brendon's closet. "When do you need to go?"

"Um." Brendon shrugs. "Soon. Like, really soon. Ten minutes."

"Where do they live?" Spencer asks. "How are you getting there? Do you need a ride? I know you don't have a car."

Brendon blinks. "Bus. Then train," he says, quickly. His palms are sweating; he stuffs them into the pockets of his hoodie.

"I could give you a ride," Spencer persists.

"No," Brendon says. "It's fine. But. You know. Thanks."

Spencer nods again.

They're still in Brendon's hallway; Brendon's carefully standing between Spencer and the living room.

There's a silence.

"I know," Spencer says heavily, after a minute. "I know you don't have a party to go to, Brendon."

"I do _too_ ," Brendon says, too quickly. His hands are too hot; he clenches them into fists and laughs, trying to force a smile.

"Brendon," Spencer says.

Brendon thinks Spencer sounds _sad_. Brendon hates it when people feel sorry for him. It makes his chest hurt. "It's fine," Brendon says, brightly. "Christmas is going to be amazing. It's _fine_. I'm fine."

Spencer looks uncomfortable. "Brendon," he says again.

"No, really," Brendon cuts him off. He really, really hates it when people try to be nice to him when they just think he's a loser. "I just-" His shoulders deflate, and he slumps back against the wall. "How'd you find out?" he asks, dully, after a while. "That I'm a liar, I mean. That I don't have anyone to spend Christmas with."

Spencer shrugs. "You didn't seem - _yourself_ ," he says awkwardly. "And I, um. I called Ryan. To find out who your friends were."

"Oh," Brendon manages. Now everyone knows. "Right."

Spencer swallows loudly, but Brendon just stares at the floor, toeing the carpet with the end of his sneaker. "I'm sorry for how I acted," Spencer says uncomfortably.

Brendon can't help it, his head shoots up and he meets Spencer's gaze. "What?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," Spencer repeats. "Christmas kind of makes me—rude. I forget how that seems to other people. I'm sorry you had to put up with that." He shrugs. "I um, I kind of don't want to spend Christmas by myself, though."

"Okay," Brendon says. He doesn't know what else to say. He's been found out; he doesn't have anywhere to go on Christmas and he doesn't have anyone else he can hang out with. Jon and Ryan are his only friends. He doesn't know why it hurts so much, having Spencer know that. "I thought you didn't like me," he says, after a while. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. "I thought you said I was an idiot."

"You heard that, huh?" Spencer says, blushing. " _I_ was the idiot. I just. You're really nice. You're not an idiot. I'm sort of-" he stops, swallowing. "I'm stupid and I'm sorry. I'm lonely too and I miss Ryan, and that's really fucking stupid but I just, I don't want to be by myself for Christmas. I figured you might not want to be by yourself either."

Brendon feels a dart of relief so strong his stomach hurts.

"I guess you know Christmas isn't my favorite time of the year," Spencer says. He passes the bag he's holding from one hand to the other, "and I know that I'm probably going to be pretty crappy company because I'm fucking antisocial, but please. Spend Christmas with me. I want you to."

Brendon bites his lip. "You don't have to do this," he says, and he's proud of himself because his voice sounds pretty level, even though his stomach's churning. "I gave you an out." He _did_. He gave Spencer the opportunity to back out of spending Christmas with him and Spencer _took_ it. It fucking _hurt_ , even though he'd expected it.

"I know," Spencer says. "I'm not asking because I have to. Please. Spend Christmas with me. I'm really going to try, I promise."

Brendon isn't going to be able to hold out much longer. He really, really doesn't want to spend Christmas alone.

"Please," Spencer says, again.

"Okay," Brendon nods. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do it." He can barely contain his smile, his _relief_. He's not going to be alone.

"I haven't done this in a while," Spencer says, biting his lip. "Christmas, I mean. Mostly I just hang out at Ryan's and get drunk and play video games. You're going to have to, I don't know. Tell me what I should be doing."

Brendon smiles. "Okay. We should, um, go out or something. See everyone getting ready for Christmas. Get in the right mood."

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "Really?" He looks apprehensive and Brendon laughs.

"Really," he says, unable to keep it contained any longer. He's got someone to spend Christmas with, even if that someone is Spencer, who thinks he's an idiot. He laughs again, tugging on his coat and his hat and his gloves and his scarf. "Really," he says again. "We're going to go _out_ , Spencer."

"Okay," Spencer nods, but then he meets Brendon's eyes and just, _smiles_. Brendon's heart kind of skips. He's got someone to spend Christmas with. He can't help but smile back.

"Come on," Brendon says. "Let's go."

-o-

 

Spencer can't believe he's agreed to go out _again_ on Christmas Eve. Before today, he hasn't been in a store on December 24th since, well, forever ago. Today he's been out twice. He thinks that maybe he should get some sort of medal, or a pin, just so he can wave it in Ryan's face and say _ha_. Although he's secretly pretty sure that Ryan's been planning this all along and it would probably just make him smirk. Spencer hates it when Ryan smirks.

They're standing outside on the sidewalk, peering into the windows of a busy store. Spencer's wearing his long, woolen coat with his gloves and his thin black scarf wrapped around his neck. He's cold, so he buries his hands in his pockets and wishes it were warmer.

Brendon's in his quilted jacket, a big scarf and a knitted hat and mittens. He still looks ridiculous, but Spencer doesn't feel the urge to smirk or laugh anymore. He smiles, instead.

"What?" Brendon asks, catching Spencer looking.

"Nothing," Spencer says. "Just. Your scarf looks nice. Warmer than mine, anyway."

Brendon grins. "We should go and find you a scarf," he says. "That can be our mission, our Christmas Eve mission."

"A mission, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Brendon nods. "Christmas Eve has to have a mission. Everybody knows that."

Spencer can't help but laugh. Brendon's brightened up; gone is the Brendon from earlier, the one with the tight shoulders and the plastered-on smile. It's better like this. "Okay," he says, even though he hasn't let anyone pick out his clothes since Ryan, in college, and he still has nightmares about some of those outfits. Ryan has always been comfortable with cabaret; Spencer leans towards smart and sophisticated. This is going to be a disaster, he thinks, although he's kind of surprised to find that he doesn't mind all that much. "Let's go."

Spencer has taste and a muted appreciation for style. He has never spent twenty minutes in a crowded store looking at thick, wooly scarves that are way too long and way too bright. He's always laughed at people that did, and now he's one of them. He wonders if Brendon's some sort of alien, like in _The Faculty_ or whatever, and he's secretly molding Spencer into a pod person. Spencer balks. He thinks about texting Ryan to say, _if you ever see me in a hat with a tassel, you can stab me with a pen, okay?_ But he doesn't. He just stands there, patiently, as Brendon eyes up the display of scarves.

"This is stupid," he says, after a while. Brendon's concentrating on winding scarf after scarf around Spencer's neck, taking over the mirror at the back of the store and making everyone else shuffle past them awkwardly.

"No it's not," Brendon tells him. "You don't want to buy the wrong one, do you?"

"Well," Spencer says. He doesn't. "No."

Brendon winds another scarf around Spencer's neck. He's concentrating, biting his lip, stepping back and considering.

"What?" Spencer asks, after a moment.

"I like this one," Brendon tells him. "What do you think?"

The one Brendon's picked out is soft and thick, made with chunky red wool, long enough that it winds twice around Spencer's neck and trails down to his stomach. Spencer touches at it with the tips of his fingers. "Yeah," he says, trying to ignore the warm feeling coiling and uncoiling in his belly. "I like it."

"Awesome," Brendon says, catching at Spencer's sleeve. "Come on."

He drags Spencer over to the register, and then leans over the counter to talk to the girl there. She smiles back at him and laughs when Brendon whispers something that Spencer doesn't catch.

"What?" Spencer asks. He's been friends with Ryan long enough to not trust anything that involves whispering. He remembers the _rose vest_.

"Nothing," Brendon says, grinning. Spencer's still wearing his new scarf, and Brendon holds out the tag for the girl to scan. "He's going to wear it," Brendon says, "Can we get a bag for him to put his other—boring—scarf in?"

"Hey," Spencer says, reprovingly. His other scarf wasn't _boring_ , it was black and _sensible_.

"Boring," Brendon repeats, with a grin. He winks at the girl behind the counter, who laughs, and hands him a bag.

"Nice," Spencer says. "Sensible."

"Boring," Brendon says, airily.

They're outside the store before Spencer realizes that Brendon just paid.

"Hey," he says again, startled but strangely touched. "You didn't have to get this."

"Shut up," Brendon says, and before Spencer knows what's happening, Brendon's pulling off his mittens and unbuttoning Spencer's coat, buttoning it up again over his new scarf. "It's Christmas," he says, and then he ducks his head and says, "I'm not being rude or anything, but your gloves were kind of dull, too, so I got her to ring up some to match your scarf."

Brendon's holding out the bag and pulling out a pair of thick, red, wool gloves.

"Brendon," Spencer says, because he can't not. He reaches for them.

"You don't, you know, hate them or anything, right?" Brendon worries at his lip with his teeth. "I mean. You said yes to the scarf. I figured-"

"Brendon," Spencer says again. "Thank you." The words feel thick against his tongue; he doesn't even know. He _hates_ Christmas.

"You like them?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, nodding. He carefully swaps his old gloves for his new pair. They're soft and thick and warm. "Yeah, I do."

"Good," Brendon says, and then he's grinning again.

"You want to get a coffee or something?" Spencer asks, after a moment.

"Sure," Brendon nods. "Cool."

Around them, the sidewalks are busy, people rushing around with armfuls of bags and harried expressions. Normally, Spencer would have been devising new and even more creative ways to bring an end to the human race. He can't really be bothered, now. He concentrates on glaring at the couple walking slowly in the middle of the sidewalk, seemingly unaware of the crowds of people they're holding up. He focuses the power of his mind on them, and wishes that were enough to work.

Spencer sometimes worries that he spends too long locked up in his brain. Maybe listening to Ryan and trying to be less antisocial was a good thing.

Still. Their end would be pretty creative, Spencer thinks, grimly. If he could be bothered to think about it.

Brendon's just grinning.

"How come you don't wear your glasses more?" Spencer asks, when they've pushed their way into Starbucks to get out of the cold and the bustle. It's busy in there too, and there aren't any tables free so they get their drinks to go. Brendon passes a lid to Spencer as they wait in line for sprinkles.

Brendon shrugs, wrinkling his nose. "Dunno," he says. "I look like enough of a dork already, I guess."

Spencer spends a quality moment staving off the desire to punch every single person who has ever made Brendon Urie feel small. Including himself, he thinks, and resolves to make it up to him. "I like them," he says. "I think you should wear them more."

"Yeah?" Brendon says. He's holding his coffee close to his nose, still in his mittens. The heat from his coffee steams his glasses up.

"Yeah," Spencer tells him. Jeez, he thinks, he's such a loser. _I think you should wear them more_. He wants to punch himself in the face.

As they're about to walk out, Spencer spies a couple leaving and he pulls Brendon over to the table. They squeeze in, Spencer putting the bag with his scarf and gloves under the table. The seat is still warm from the person who sat there before him. He hates that, and he wriggles.

"That was lucky," Brendon says, dropping down onto the chair opposite. "Them leaving."

"Yeah," Spencer nods, taking his gloves off and stuffing them in his pockets. "So. What else are we doing today?"

Brendon's smile dulls. "Um, we can just go home, I guess."

Spencer nudges Brendon's knee with his own. "I told you I've never done this before," he says. It's weird, he can't figure it out. He thought he'd hate hanging out with Brendon, that it would be lame and boring and dorky. It's kind of dorky, but he's enjoying himself. "I'm out of ideas. You'll have to tell me what else we can do that's kind of Christmassy."

Brendon nods. "Okay," he says, and he slides his hands around his red cup and ducks his head so he can smell the coffee. "We should go and buy some more decorations," he says, after a moment. "Some tree ornaments. Maybe we can get the really ugly stuff that no one else wants to buy."

Spencer thinks that's a fucking stupid idea, but he doesn't say it. He spends a lot of time trying to buy nice things for his apartment, and he's not particularly sure about the idea of going out to deliberately buy ugly things. "O-kay," he says.

Brendon rolls his eyes, bright again. "We'll go buy some ugly decorations, and we'll go by the department store so we can see Ryan's windows again, and- you think this is a really crappy idea, don't you?"

"No," Spencer says, blatantly lying. He relents when Brendon raises an eyebrow. "Okay, yeah, okay, I think it's weird. But you want to do it, so. Yeah. That's what we're doing."

"You sure?" Brendon asks.

Strangely enough, Spencer is.

They wander through the city, Spencer all warm in his new scarf and gloves and Brendon wrapped up like a snowman in his big quilted coat and mittens. They stand and stare at Ryan's window displays and Spencer's forced to admit that they're actually pretty cool, even if they _are_ all Christmassy and shit.

"I'm telling Ryan you said that," Brendon tells him, with a grin.

"Don't," Spencer begs. "He'll never let me forget it."

Brendon just laughs.

They wander in and out of the stores, and Brendon buys some of the ugliest fucking decorations Spencer's ever seen. Okay, maybe he still doesn't get that part, but Brendon's grinning a lot and trying to hold the bag in his mitten paw and it's quite ridiculously endearing.

"Here," Spencer says, reaching for the bag. "Let me."

Afterwards, they end up back at Spencer's car, putting their bags in the trunk and climbing in. Once the car gets warmed up, it's really nice. They sit for a moment with the heater on, letting their hands warm up. Spencer always seems to be fucking cold.

"This is bad for the environment," Brendon points out, after a minute. "Excessive energy use."

"Hmm," Spencer murmurs, noncommittally. Brendon's glasses are all steamed up from the warmth and his cheeks are all pink. "So," he says. "What do you want to do now?"

Brendon shrugs comfortably. "Want to go see if the ice skating rink is still open?"

Spencer hasn't been in a pair of skates since some birthday party when he was a kid. He and Ryan had gone together and skated around the side while all the other kids pushed each other over in the middle. "Okay," he says, "Although I'm probably pretty crappy."

"Pfft," Brendon says, with a wave of his hand. "I'll help you up when you fall down."

-o-

 

The ice rink is still open, and is pretty busy considering it's getting dark and it's almost closing time. They join the line and Brendon huddles down into his coat. It's really fucking cold. He's glad Spencer's got a warmer scarf and gloves, but they should have gotten him a better hat, too. He tells Spencer this as they wait in line.

"Maybe next time," Spencer says. When they get to the ticket booth he pushes Brendon's hand away when he tries to pay. He gets tickets for both of them and then they get in line for skates.

"I hate wearing other people's shoes," Spencer complains the whole time they're waiting. He doesn't stop, even when they're sitting on the benches by the side of the rink and they've got their rented ice skates in hand. Brendon wonders vaguely how Ryan puts up with him.

"They spray them with that cleaning stuff," Brendon says, lacing his boots up tightly.

"Hmm," Spencer says, darkly. He gingerly stands up on his skates, wobbling while he tries to get his balance.

Brendon fights the urge to laugh, and loses. He claps his hand across his mouth instead. "Come on," he says, "I'll race you."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I am very, very bad at this," he warns Brendon.

"You'll be _fine_ ," Brendon says, already leaning over the bar and pushing out onto the ice. He has to stifle another laugh as he watches Spencer inch his way out onto the ice, wobbling precariously with one hand on the railing.

"How are you even staying _upright_?" Spencer asks, a minute later, still holding on to the railing. "Is it some loophole of gravity?"

"Yeah," Brendon admits, circling round in front of Spencer. "I'm kind of magic."

"You're kind of _annoying_ ," Spencer says, but there's no heat there. He's grinning at Brendon, still holding onto the railing with one hand. He looks like those pictures of baby giraffes, all unsteady and skittish. It's kind of cute.

Brendon laughs, still upright. He skates lazily backwards and forwards in front of Spencer. "You okay there?" he asks, unable to stifle his grin.

"Yep," Spencer says, with gritted teeth, " _fine_. Carry on."

"Okay," Brendon laughs.

"You're a fucking _monkey_ or something. A cat," Spencer says. "You can tell me. You should have a _tail_ , at least," he says, grumpily.

"A tail?" Brendon's still grinning. "Want me to help you out?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Spencer says, grimly. "Enjoying myself just fine."

Brendon watches as Spencer presses back into the railing as he's passed by a seven year old with her mom chasing after her.

"Jeez," Spencer says, "watch out."

"You need to come into the middle," Brendon tells him. "Less people, see?"

"Yeah," Spencer says, "but _no_."

"Come on," Brendon says, grabbing Spencer's hand in his mittened one. "I'll look after you, protect you from the kids."

"Who are all _better_ than me," Spencer points out, carefully and slowly letting go of the railing and letting Brendon pull him into the middle where there are less people.

"Because you're scared of falling over," Brendon says. "And they're not."

"Falling over hurts," Spencer points out. He's carefully moving now, not letting Brendon drag him, one foot in front of the other. "Hey, look, Brendon, I'm _skating_."

He falls over, landing on the ice with a hefty _bump_. "Ow," he says, in a small voice.

Brendon can't help it. He just laughs, leaning over and holding his hand out. "Not so bad, huh?"

"Yes," Spencer says petulantly, letting Brendon help him up.

Brendon laughs again.

They skate around the middle for a while, Spencer holding onto Brendon's hand tightly. It's cold and the wind is bitter; their cheeks turning pink in the evening cold. The speakers are playing Christmas songs at ear-splitting volume. All around them kids and their parents and couples are skating around, singing along and falling over and laughing.

Spencer doesn't look like he's _not_ enjoying himself. Maybe there's hope for him yet, Brendon thinks. He doesn't get how anybody could dislike Christmas. Even when he was resigned to spending it alone, he couldn't have hated it. It's _Christmas_.

Spencer smiles, and Brendon can't help it, he squeezes Spencer's hand and smiles back.

They stay on the rink until the lights dim and the music stops playing over the speakers. They file off the ice with the other few remaining skaters, collapsing onto the benches and unpicking at their laces with numb fingers.

"These aren't my hands," Brendon declares, after two minutes trying to get one of his knots undone with stiff, cold fingers. "These are someone else's, that's why they won't work."

Spencer huffs out a laugh. He's bent double, trying to unlace his boots. "We need something warm to drink," he says, as Brendon finally declares himself victorious and gets his boots off.

Brendon most definitely agrees. "Hot chocolate," he declares. "Mugs and mugs of it."

"Yeah," Spencer says, wiggling his toes for a moment before putting his own shoes back on. "You know, I make pretty amazing hot chocolate."

Brendon grins, pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger. He pulls his mittens back on. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's like a skill. Not everyone has it. We could swing by my place, if you wanted."

"Okay," Brendon nods. They hurry back to Spencer's car, hands deep in their pockets to escape the cold.

—

"Dude," Brendon says, standing in Spencer's hallway. "Is this the apartment that Christmas forgot, or what?"

"That was the general idea," Spencer says, taking off his shoes and padding down the hallway into the kitchen.

Brendon follows him in. "Any particular reason you're auditioning for the recurring role of Scrooge?" he asks, pulling out a stool by the counter and sitting down.

"I don't like Christmas," Spencer says, kneeling down with his head in the cupboard.

"Yeah, but why?" Brendon presses, leaning over the counter and poking Spencer in the shoulder. "What are you looking for, anyway?"

"Marshmallows," Spencer says shortly, from inside the cupboard. "You can't have hot chocolate without marshmallows."

Brendon grins. He pokes Spencer in the shoulder again. "These?" He brandishes the package of mini mallows and points at the shelf above his head. "They were on the shelf, there."

"Oh, thanks," Spencer says, standing up again and stretching.

"So, why do you hate Christmas so much?" Brendon pushes, because he's curious and he's inquisitive and he wants to know the answer.

Spencer mutters something about commercialism and money and a culture of want.

Brendon raises an eyebrow.

Spencer smiles ruefully. "Ryan used to be able to quote my anti-Christmas rant verbatim," he says. "I spent years perfecting it. Mostly I hate the amount of money we all spend and how sentimental and clichéd it is, and how you can't escape it, even if I— _we_ —want to. I don't know. I just hate it."

"That's it? That's kind of lame," Brendon says, resting his chin on his hands. "I thought there must be some childhood trauma, at least. There isn't, is there?"

Spencer shakes his head. "No childhood trauma. I just don't like Christmas much."

"It makes you kind of a bitch," Brendon says.

For a moment, there's silence, before Spencer laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does."

"You should work on that for next year," Brendon says. He's smiling but secretly he means it. Spencer's said some pretty shitty things that Brendon's overheard. He doesn't want to think about what _else_ Spencer's said that he hasn't heard.

Spencer colors. "Yeah. Look," he says, after a minute. "I've been a dick to you."

Brendon shrugs, tugging his Christmas sweater down over his wrists.

"No, really. I have. You didn't deserve that, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Brendon tells him.

Spencer shakes his head. "It isn't. I'm sorry you had to put up with that. I'm going to try to make it up to you, though. If you'll let me."

Brendon nods awkwardly. "Sure," he says. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say. He fiddles with his cuffs.

"I am," Spencer tells him. He seems kind of emphatic. Then he sighs and ducks his head, busying himself with tins and jars of hot chocolate. He's got more of a selection than the grocery store and secretly Brendon's kind of impressed.

"Look," Spencer says, after a while. "We should go back to your place to have these. We've got your fugly tree ornaments to hang, and it's got to be better than being here."

"Your apartment is nice," Brendon protests.

"Sure it is," Spencer says. "But not at Christmas. We should at least be somewhere with a tree."

Brendon agrees, after a beat. "Okay."

Spencer nods. "I'm going go get changed, okay? You should hang out in the living room or something, it's comfier than in here, anyway."

"Hey," Brendon says, stopping. He shrugs his shoulders, kind of awkwardly. "Look," he says, "you can totally say no, but. Why don't you stay at my place tonight? There's a sofa bed and we can open our presents together in the morning."

Spencer bites his lip.

"It's fine," Brendon says, quickly. He's pretty sure that even Jon and Ryan hadn't thought Brendon and Spencer's shared Christmas through _this_ much. "It was only an idea, I know you hate Christmas and everything."

"No-" Spencer says, slowly. "I mean, okay. Okay. I'll just get some stuff together."

A smile curves it's way across Brendon's face. "Really?" he says. "Awesome."

"Yeah," Spencer says, and he smiles.

Brendon can't help but keep smiling back.

—

"Hey," Brendon calls, a couple of minutes later.

"What?" Spencer says loudly, his voice echoing down the hallway.

"You've got a copy of _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ on DVD." Brendon's looking through Spencer's CDs and DVDs, head on one side, tongue out.

"Ryan bought it for me last year," Spencer calls back, "His idea of a joke."

"We could take it with us," Brendon says, hopefully. "Then you can tell him you watched it. You know, finally."

"What makes you think that I haven't?" Spencer asks, coming into the living room with an overnight bag and bumping shoulders with Brendon by the DVD rack.

Brendon raises his eyebrows. "You haven't, right?"

"Well, no. But-"

"That's settled then," Brendon says. "We're taking it with us. You ready?"

Spencer laughs. "Okay, yeah. Lead the way."

-o-

 

"For someone who hates Christmas, you come out of it pretty well," Brendon points out as they heave two big bags of gifts out of Spencer's trunk and onto the sidewalk outside Brendon's apartment.

Spencer rolls his eyes and slings his duffle over his shoulder. "My parents are in Europe," he tells Brendon, as if that's an explanation all by itself. "And Ryan thinks he can make me change my mind about Christmas just by buying me more stuff every year."

"Does it work?" Brendon asks. He's trying to carry his bag of ugly-assed decorations, all of Spencer's hot chocolate supplies, and a bag of gifts in his mitten paw.

"No," Spencer says, grinning and holding his hand out to take some of the bags from Brendon. "It hasn't yet."

"Maybe this year," Brendon says, refusing to hand over any of the bags and heading down the sidewalk and into his apartment building.

"Yeah," Spencer says, softly. "Maybe."

—

"Wow," Spencer says, turning around in a circle in Brendon's living room. "Someone puked up Christmas in here, right?"

"Right," Brendon says, proudly. "You like?"

Spencer raises his eyebrows. In the corner of Brendon's tiny, scruffy living room is a six foot Norwegian Spruce—God only knows how he'd gotten it in, it's far too wide for the elevator even if it wasn't broken, and Brendon lives on the seventh floor, The tree is covered in tinsel and mismatched ornaments and strings of lights. "You have Disney ornaments," Spencer says, spotting Snow White, Ariel and Simba all clustered together by the TV.

"They're my favorite," Brendon says, vaguely defensively. He drags one of the bags of Spencer's gifts over to the tree and kneels down by Spencer's feet. "No making fun of the toy reindeer, either."

"Reindeer?" Spencer turns round, trying to spot them. All round the room are garlands and tinsel pinned to the walls, strings of lights trailing around the bookshelves and over the guitar stand and around the TV. The couch has a Santa Claus blanket draped across the back. He finally spies the seven reindeer in a row by the wall. They all look hand-knitted; at least half of them have eyes pointing in different directions. They're the ugliest fucking things Spencer's ever seen in his whole entire life. He's kind of fascinated. "Wow," he says again. "They really _are_ reindeer."

"They're very precious," Brendon says. He's making room under the tree for Spencer's gifts. There doesn't look like there's much under there already; Spencer's pile is already dwarfing Brendon's.

"Um," Spencer says, because he can't think of a way to make the sad, tight feeling in his chest go away, the one where he imagines Brendon planning his Christmas all by himself. "I should make us some hot chocolate."

"You _should_ ," Brendon says, with a grin. "Kitchen's through there," he points in the general direction of the door. "Shout if you can't find what you need."

Brendon's kitchen hasn't escaped the spew of Christmas either. It's tiny, cramped and scruffy with mismatching cupboard doors. There are pictures stuck to most of the doors and more pinned to the fridge with a selection of hideous fridge magnets. There's one of Jon and Brendon in the middle of the fridge, in one of those magnetic frames. They're both grinning at the camera, arms slung around each other. Spencer stares at it for a moment, his bag of hot chocolate forgotten.

There are another couple of photos too, one of Jon and Ryan holding hands and smiling, and another one of all three of them, Jon, Ryan and Brendon, taken by one of them with the camera held up above their heads. They're partially obscured by scraps of paper torn out of magazines, pictures of bands and album covers and post-it notes with bizarre messages in Jon's handwriting. There are even a couple in Ryan's.

There are cut-out and colored in Santa hats stuck to most of the pictures; Jon has a big fluffy beard in one and elf ears in another. There are snowflakes cut out and stuck to the kitchen windows.

"I know," Brendon says, leaning against the doorjamb and sticking his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "I'm a total loser."

"You're not," Spencer says, automatically.

"It's okay." Brendon shrugs his shoulders. "I'm kind of used to it by now."

Spencer sort of wants to say, _I think it's kind of cute_ , but he can't so he doesn't. Instead he puts the bag of hot chocolate down on the counter and bumps elbows with Brendon. "You want to see a master at work?"

"The hot chocolate master?" Brendon asks, dubiously.

"Yeah," Spencer says, seriously. "My creations are works of art. You'll be amazed." Sometimes Spencer worries he takes his hot chocolate too seriously. He doesn't though; it's that everybody else doesn't take hot chocolate seriously _enough_. He's spent more hours than he can count carefully explaining it to Ryan—payback for all those hours where Ryan's eyes glazed over and he talked about Wittgenstein until Spencer wanted to impale himself on the nearest sharp object just so that the pain would be over—but Ryan has always maintained a careful distance from Spencer's wild-eyed hot chocolate appreciation.

Spencer allows himself a moment of metaphorical hollow laughter, because Ryan has Wittgenstein and Spencer has _hot chocolate_. Ryan is clearly _stupid_ , and Spencer should immediately stop being his friend.

"Amazed?" Brendon interrupts him, and Spencer blinks his way back to reality. In his imagination, he was wearing a crown and Ryan was looking lowly and peasant-like. It was nice.

" _Amazed_ ," Spencer says again, waving his arms about. He tends to get enthusiastic where hot chocolate is concerned. "Bring me your biggest mugs, Brendon, and watch and learn."

"Should I be scared?" Brendon asks, opening up his cupboards and pulling out two mugs. One of them has a picture of Kermit the Frog on it, the other one has Labrador puppies sprawled around the handle.

"No," Spencer says, his brow creasing. "Why should you be scared? I need a pan. And boiling water. And milk. And sugar." He might possibly be using his imperious voice. He tends to get vaguely dictatorial when he's in the kitchen.

"And a _please_." Brendon raises his eyebrows, but he's smiling.

"Please." Spencer smiles back, and almost forgets to stir his Italian chocolate powder into the water. He blames Christmas. It's usually Christmas' fault.

—

The hot chocolate is thick, dark, hot, and sweet, just the way Spencer likes it. He manages to get most of it into the mugs without spilling too much on the counter.

Brendon's watching him with wide eyes. "I think you might be magic," he says, after he takes the mug that Spencer hands him and takes a sip.

Spencer takes the compliment to heart. Ryan tends to nod at him and hope that conveys his sincerest appreciation for the effort Spencer has put into creating the perfect hot chocolate, or at least that's what Spencer likes to think Ryan means. He nods, modestly. "I am good," he says.

Brendon just laughs and elbows him in the side.

That'll do, Spencer thinks.

They carry the mugs into the living room, sinking down onto the couch and waiting for the DVD to start.

"I can't believe you haven't watched this yet," Brendon says, shifting loudly and taking up two thirds of the couch. "It's the fucking _Muppets_ , Spence."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Muppets. They're for kids."

Brendon just rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Spencer, did someone hit you and Ryan upside the head as kids, or what?"

"What?" Spencer asks, confused.

Brendon shakes his head. "You're both just lucky that you've got me and Jon around to tell you when you're being idiots. You're allowed to have fun, you know."

"I have fun," Spencer says defensively as the menu loads. He does. He watches TV and reads books and hangs out with Ryan and they go to clubs and watch movies and stuff. They have fun.

Brendon raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.

"We do," he says.

"Uh-huh," Brendon nods. "Shut up and watch the movie. The first song's my favorite."

"But-"

"Shush," Brendon pokes him in the side.

Spencer starts to list in his head all the fun things he does, all the time trying his best to ignore Brendon singing along. It's hard when Brendon's elbowing him at every mention of Scrooge, leaning in and singing loudly in Spencer's ear.

"There goes Mr. Humbug, there goes Mr. _Grim_ -" Brendon sings.

"Shut up," Spencer says. "I am not fucking Scrooge, okay."

"Okay," Brendon just laughs. "Except that you kind of _are_."

"Am not," Spencer tells him.

"Give up, Spence," Brendon shakes his head, "just admit it already. Unless you've suddenly started liking Christmas?"

 _I like Christmas with **you**_ , Spencer thinks. "It's okay," he says, after a moment where he waits with some trepidation for some kind of thunderbolt. He concentrates on his hot chocolate. "These songs _suck_ ," he says, after a while, but there's no heat to it.

Brendon just smiles and shifts on the couch so he's more comfortable. Spencer deliberately doesn't react when Brendon ends up resting his head on his shoulder, and he doesn't say anything when it starts to get chilly and Brendon pulls the Santa Claus blanket down over their knees, either.  
Brendon wakes Spencer up at the ass-crack of dawn by tripping over his empty hot chocolate mug from the night before, on the way from his bedroom to the kitchen.

"Sorry," Brendon says, sheepishly. He'd been trying to be all quiet and not switch the light on, but he'd forgotten that they'd left the mugs out last night and he'd stumbled into the end of the fold out couch where Spencer was sleeping. "Couldn't sleep."

"'S'alright," Spencer says, sleepily. "What time is it?"

"It's _Christmas_ time, Spencer," Brendon says, with a grin. It's maybe four thirty, but Brendon figures it's probably better if Spencer doesn't know that yet.

Spencer looks decidedly grumpy. Brendon thinks that maybe he's not a morning person. "I'd prefer it if it were coffee time," Spencer tells him. Pointedly.

"Aren't you excited about it being Christmas morning?" Brendon asks, stumbling into the kitchen and tipping yesterday's grounds into the trash can.

"I'm not excited about anything until I've had coffee," Spencer says. "And it's still the middle of the fucking _night_ , Brendon." His voice is muffled, and when Brendon sticks his head around the door, he's buried his face in the pillow. He's kind of cute, all sleepy-eyed and grumpy with his hair sticking up and his stupid striped pajamas. Brendon carefully ignores that and goes back to putting water in the coffee machine.

"It'll be ready soon," Brendon says, a minute later, coming back into the living room and sitting down next to Spencer on the bed. He shivers; the heating hasn't come on yet.

Spencer groans. "You're worse than Ryan," he complains.

"Am not," Brendon says automatically. "At what?"

"Making me feel cold," Spencer tells him, voice still muffled in the pillow. "Get under the covers."

Brendon blinks.

Spencer sighs loudly and pulls back the blankets. "Come on," he says, still with his face in the pillow. "You're letting the cold air in."

Brendon is not one to refuse blanket sharing. He clambers under the covers, only kicking Spencer once. "You're all _warm_ ," he says in surprise.

"And you're an icicle," Spencer tells him.

Brendon curls into Spencer's side to share the warmth. Spencer sighs, but then he shifts, throwing an arm over Brendon and tugging him closer. "What time is it, really?" he asks.

Brendon shrugs. "Four thirty?"

Spencer makes a noise that Brendon can't quite parse. "Go to sleep," Spencer tells him, after a minute. "Go to sleep _now_ , and don't wake me up until it's actually morning and not the middle of the fucking night."

"The _coffee_ ," Brendon says, pointing at the kitchen.

"- will be fine," Spencer tells him.

Brendon sighs, and makes to climb out of the bed so he can go back to his room.

Spencer's arm doesn't move. "Just stay here and go to sleep, okay?" Spencer's face is still buried in the pillow.

"Okay," Brendon says. He doesn't think he'll sleep, but staying here with Spencer, where it's _warm_ , that doesn't sound too bad.

—

When Brendon opens his eyes again, it's much later. He peers blearily at his watch; he hasn't got his glasses on and the numbers are all fuzzy around the edges. It's eight thirty; this is the latest Brendon thinks he's ever slept on Christmas morning. He rolls over, not so accidentally poking Spencer in the side to wake him up.

"Bring me coffee," Spencer says, without opening his eyes. "I'll wake up when there's coffee."

It seems like a deal. He goes to find his glasses and to pour the coffee. "How do you like it?" he asks, sticking his head around the living room door.

"Strong," Spencer tells him. He's sitting up in the fold out bed, rubbing at his eyes and blinking. It's really, really kind of cute, and Brendon fixes his gaze on the Christmas tree so he doesn't have to see it anymore. "Strong and sweet. You have milk?"

"Creamer," Brendon says, with a shrug.

"I'll come fix it myself, I'm kind of picky." Spencer says, pulling back the blankets and edging his way around the bed and into the kitchen.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Brendon grins, and pulls himself up so that he's sitting on his counter, kicking his legs.

"Shut up," Spencer says, and then spends two minutes carefully fiddling with his coffee until it's just the right balance of sweet and dark.

Brendon just grins, because Spencer's a lamer, too, in his own way. Lame, and kind of _square_. Even Spencer's pajamas are sensible—they're blue with white stripes. Very grown up. Brendon's wearing a _Santa's coming to town_ t-shirt and sweatpants. He's cold, so he's pulled on a Christmas sweater too. His hair is probably sticking up all over the place, but he doesn't care. He's wearing two pairs of socks, too. Spencer isn't wearing any.

"You're going to get cold feet," Brendon tells him, poking Spencer in the shoulder. "You should put some socks on."

"Oh," Spencer says, looking down at his feet. "I guess I forgot to bring a clean pair? I'll go put yesterday's back on."

Brendon blinks. "You could borrow a pair." He has just the pair in mind.

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Spencer's still concentrating on his coffee.

Brendon grins. "I'll go get you some."

—

"There is no way I'm wearing those," Spencer says, a minute later. "No fucking way."

"But it's _Christmas_ ," Brendon says. "And you hate the idea of putting dirty socks back on, I know you do. Don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but—" Spencer trails off.

Brendon's holding out a pair of green and red stripy socks. "Go on," he says. "Put them on."

"As long as you don't tell Ryan," Spencer says, holding out his hand.

"Deal."

Which is how Spencer ends up wearing a pair of toe socks with pompom reindeers on each little toe and a bearded Santa on each big toe. Brendon can't stop laughing. He thinks that watching Spencer stare at his feet and wiggle his toes with a concerned, vaguely distressed look on his face might be the funniest thing he's ever seen.

"This is hell, right?" Spencer says, sorrowfully. "This is _hell_ , and I'm dead."

"Nope," Brendon laughs. "I think we should take a photo. For, like, posterity."

"Haha, _no_."

"Come on," Brendon wheedles. "I promise not to show it to Ryan."

"No," Spencer tells him, miserably. "You'd just show Jon, who'd show Ryan, and then my life would be over."

"You _jest_ ," Brendon says, searching for his camera. It's pretty crappy, but Jon bought it for Brendon last Christmas, and it had been the best that he could afford. Brendon loves it.

"You don't know Ryan like I do," Spencer says, darkly.

Brendon just laughs, and pushes Spencer back into the living room so he can kneel and take a photo of Spencer's feet.

"We could send a photo to my mom," Spencer says carefully, a few moments later. "Like, we could email it."

Brendon nods. "That would be pretty cool," he says. "She'd probably like to see you."

"Yeah," Spencer nods, and then he twiddles his thumbs. "Would you take one of me? So I can email it to her and my dad?"

"Sure," Brendon says. "We could, you know. We could like, set the timer. So she knows you're not alone on Christmas."

Spencer swallows. "Yeah," he says, "that'd be kind of nice. She'd like that."

They put the fold out bed away and then get showered and dressed. Brendon thinks that he's never been this good about opening his presents before in his whole entire life. He keeps eyeing the tree and thinking about the presents underneath it, the gifts from Jon and the package from his parents. He wants to see Spencer's face when he opens the gift that Brendon bought for him.

By the time Spencer's sitting on the couch, coffee in one hand, Brendon's bouncing with excitement.

"You're a big kid," Spencer says, in an amused voice.

"Like that's a _bad_ thing," Brendon says, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we've got presents to open."

"And photos to take," Spencer reminds him.

"You want to do that now, or later?" Brendon asks.

Spencer shrugs. "My mom usually sends me a Christmas sweater. I should probably wear that. Ryan usually takes a picture of me in it, then we email the picture and I take it off again."

Brendon tuts. "It's Christmas, Spence. You have to wear stupid clothes on Christmas Day. It's in the rules."

Spencer just laughs. "The rules, huh?"

"Yeah," Brendon nods solemnly. "The Christmas rules. You can't break the Christmas rules."

"Okay," Spencer laughs. "Sure. Whatever. I'll wear the stupid sweater."

Brendon beams.  


-o-

 

It takes them the better part of a half hour to pick the music. Brendon maintains that the mood has to be right for gift opening, and even though Spencer has hated Christmas for as long as he can remember, it turns out he's got some pretty fixed opinions when it comes to Christmas music. They settle for Nat King Cole, and then they drag Brendon's record player out onto the table so that they can play the old LP.

Spencer's pretty amazed at Brendon's record collection. He has boxes of LPs, and it's all he can do to stop himself going through each box in turn.

"These are amazing," he says, in wonder.

"Yeah," Brendon nods, leaning over and flicking through. Spencer finds himself staring at the back of Brendon's neck; he sort of wants to touch him there, right there on the nape. He shakes his head.

"I go to Goodwill a lot, go through the boxes there," Brendon goes on. "There are some pretty awesome recordings that people don't want anymore because they can get them on CD. The Berlin Philharmonic stuff is enough to blow your mind."

Spencer doesn't know much about classical music, so he just hmms, and flicks past them, and the jazz LPs. He stops when he gets to the old fifties and sixties albums. "Beatles albums," he says, _Abbey Road_ right through to _Yellow Submarine_.

"They're not original press or anything," Brendon shrugs. "They're pretty cool though, right?"

"Amazing," Spencer says again.

"You could come over sometime," Brendon says, awkwardly. "If you wanted. We could listen to some, or you could borrow some, or whatever."

Spencer runs his thumb down an old Beach Boys record. His hip bumps into Brendon's. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Brendon grin. He smiles down at the pile of records.

—

Spencer feels bad because he has so many more gifts than Brendon, but Brendon doesn't seem to mind. They sit on the floor with their backs up against the couch, passing gifts back and forth. Brendon seems more than happy with the DVDs Spencer picked out, but he's more excited about _Die Hard 2_ , asking if they can watch it later. Spencer's all for that. He might not hate Christmas so much this year but he still maintains a healthy skepticism for sugary Santa films. He likes his Christmas movies to come with a side order of guns and blood.

Ryan would probably say that Spencer's subconscious is a weird and fucked-up place. Ryan's not exactly one to talk, though. Spencer's seen Ryan's poetry.

Spencer's mom and dad have sent a big box of gifts. His twin sisters are studying in France for a year, and Spencer's parents have flown out to spend Christmas in Paris. They invited Spencer along, but he'd said no. His parents always look at him kind of sadly when he starts his anti-Christmas speech, and they wouldn't put up with him being grumpy and rude, which is his default setting in December. Besides, Spencer couldn't leave Ryan at Christmas, even though, as it turns out, Ryan could leave _him_.

His mom has sent him a sweater with a reindeer on the front.

"It matches your socks," Brendon tells him, and snaps three photos as Spencer pulls it on.

"Shut up," Spencer says. "It does not." It kind of _does_.

They set Brendon's camera on top of the TV and sit side by side on the couch while the timer light flashes.

The photo looks kind of awkward. They both shake their heads and say _no_.

"You need to smile more," Brendon says, poking him in the arm.

"You need to smile less," Spencer says, elbowing him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Brendon rolls his eyes. "You've got to at least try to pretend you're enjoying Christmas."

"I am," Spencer protests. Brendon looks disbelieving for a moment, but Spencer just grabs his arm, fingers tight around his wrist. "I am," he says again. "I really am."

"Good," Brendon says, after a moment. "You ready to hang up your Scrooge hat yet?"

"I am not Scrooge," Spencer says, for about the hundredth time. "It's perfectly reasonable to think that Christmas is an over-commercialized, desperate attempt-"

Brendon claps a hand over Spencer's mouth. "Shut up," he says. "Shut up, and sit down and smile for the camera."

Spencer blinks. "Okay," he says, lamely, and sits down on the couch.

This time, Brendon clambers onto the couch and slings his arm around Spencer's shoulders; when the camera flashes, Spencer's looking at Brendon and laughing. Brendon's beaming.

Spencer really likes the picture.

"I'm gonna get Jon to print it out at work," Brendon says, grinning, "so I can pin it up on the fridge."

"You should," Spencer says, and he feels all warm inside, and kind of tingly. "Maybe I could get a copy too."

"Really?" Brendon's eyes shine. "Cool. I'll get Jon to do two."

They do another one to email to Spencer's family. They sit closer, this time, and Spencer's thigh is pressed up against Brendon's. They lean in as the camera flashes, shoulders touching.

It's a nice picture. Spencer thinks his mom will like it.

-o-

 

"It's snowing again," Brendon calls down the hallway to Spencer. Spencer's in the bathroom, but Brendon can't wait until Spencer's out to let him know about the snow.

There's the sound of the flush, then water running, then the door opens and Spencer comes out, wiping his hands on his jeans. "You haven't got a towel," he points out.

Brendon shrugs. He's never very good at putting things back where they're supposed to be; he tends to wander around the apartment and put things down when he's bored of holding them. The towel will be around somewhere. Anyway, it's _snowing_. Like, actual snow. He tells Spencer this, but Spencer just grins and rolls his eyes.

"It's been snowing for _days_ , Brendon," he points out, but he doesn't make it sound like he's irritated or anything. He's kind of smiling across at Brendon, and it's making Brendon's stomach jump. It's nice.

"Clean snow, fresh snow," Brendon chants, "Snow for snowmen and snowballs and no footprints, Spence. Even you can't resist that."

Spencer raises an eyebrow.

Brendon just rolls his eyes. "You and Ryan were dropped on the head as kids, right? Like, really. Who doesn't like snow?"

"It's cold," Spencer says, patiently. "It's cold and it's wet. Inside the apartment it's dry and warm. It's like really simple math."

"Well then you've totally gotten the answer wrong," Brendon says. "Come on, put your coat on, we're going out."

Spencer looks bemused. "It's cold out, Brendon," he says.

"Shut up," Brendon tells him, grabbing hold of Spencer's sleeve and dragging him back to the living room where they'd left their coats and scarves and gloves the night before. "Shut up, and get wrapped up warm."

"Why am I even doing this?" Spencer complains, as he's putting his scarf and coat on. "I hate snow. And it's cold out."

"You're really annoying, you know that?" Brendon says, after a while. He has his boots on and his jeans tucked into them. He's put on another sweater and thrown a second one at Spencer, and then put his scarf and coat on over the top. He's all toasty warm. This is going to be amazing.

Spencer shuts up. "Am not," he says. "You are."

Brendon giggles. Spencer's put on another sweater too, and he's all bundled up under his coat, his scarf wrapped too many times around his neck.

"What?" Spencer asks.

"Nothing," Brendon says. _You're cute_ , he wants to say. He doesn't. He reaches for his keys instead, zipping them into his pocket. "Come on," he says, tugging on Spencer's coat sleeve. "Snow day, Spence. Snow."

"This is really stupid," Spencer tells him, but he doesn't drag his feet once they get into the hallway.

Brendon pfffts.

"Like, really stupid," Spencer tells him again, as they run down seven flights of stairs.

"The stupidest idea _ever_ ," Spencer says, once they get outside onto the sidewalk. They have to cross the road and walk down the street to get to the park.

Brendon just rolls his eyes and walks on the grass by the edge of the sidewalk, feeling the fresh snow crunch beneath his feet with every step he takes. "You waste a lot of breath," he says, finally, once he's left a trail of footprints right to the edge of the park.

"Do not," Spencer says, looking disgruntled.

"You really do," Brendon tells him. "Like, look at this and tell me it isn't really fucking cool." He waves his arms about at the park in front of them, snow covering all the paths and the grass. Some kids are playing down by the play area, their parents watching on. There's still snow falling, although it's lighter now, flakes all down the arms of his coat and on his jeans where he's been walking into the wind.

"Okay," Spencer nods, folding his arms, "it is really pretty. But we could see this from the window of your apartment."

Brendon rolls his eyes again. He leans over and flicks Spencer in the forehead. "You," he says, "are an idiot. Now stand still while I throw a snowball at your head."

"What?"

Brendon reaches down for a handful of snow and doesn't even bother shaping it into a ball. He throws it at Spencer and it hits him in the shoulder.

"Hey," Spencer shouts, but Brendon just laughs and runs off, "That wasn't fucking fair, you didn't give me _time_ —"

Brendon scoops up another handful of snow, shaping it into a ball. He hides behind a tree as Spencer runs after him, snow all over his coat.

As soon as Spencer comes close enough, Brendon throws it at him, hitting him in the chest.

Spencer's prepared this time, though, because he's got a snowball of his own. Brendon tries to dart out of the way but it just hits him in the arm. Brendon laughs, and hides behind the tree again.

They throw snowballs at each other for a few minutes, until their cheeks are pink and their noses red. Spencer's got snow in his hair, and Brendon's pretty sure that Spencer managed to get some down Brendon's neck with the last hit. Brendon's breathless from running around so much.

"I don't get it," Spencer says, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. "What are the rules?"

"The rules?" Brendon asks. He's confused.

"Yeah," Spencer nods. "Like, who wins?"

"At throwing snowballs?" Brendon thinks he needs to have a long sit down with Spencer and explain what fun is all about. "No one. Everybody."

Spencer just blinks. "You're not playing to win?"

Brendon shakes his head. "Nope."

"That's seriously weird," Spencer says.

" _You're_ weird," Brendon counters, and laughs as Spencer breaks into a grin. "You're having fun, right?"

Spencer thinks for a moment. "Yeah," he says. "I am."

Brendon nods. "Cool," he says, and then leans down and scoops another handful of snow to throw at Spencer.

They stay out for another half an hour, throwing snowballs and jumping up and down to try and keep warm. Spencer keeps saying _this is stupid, this is really stupid_ , but his eyes are bright and he's grinning, so Brendon thinks that it's been a success.

"I need hot chocolate," Brendon proclaims, falling down onto his back in the snow and moving his arms and legs to make a snow angel. "Lots of hot chocolate."

"Me too," Spencer says, and he's kind of blocking Brendon's light, stood at his feet in the way of the sun. Then all of a sudden, the sun is in Brendon's eyes and Spencer is lying down next to him in the snow, and he's making a snow angel.

Brendon starts to laugh, sitting up with one snowy glove to his mouth.

Spencer just grins, and then he starts to laugh too, sitting up and shaking the snow off his hat and his coat. "I'm really fucking cold," he says, all of a sudden, and then Brendon's shivering too.

"Come on," he says, "let's go back." He hops up to his feet, jumping up and down and then holding out a hand to help Spencer to his feet.

If Brendon holds on a moment too long, then Spencer totally does too.

-o-

 

Spencer changes back into his pajama pants when he gets back to Brendon's apartment. His jeans are damp and he hasn't brought a second pair; Brendon's are all too small. They lay their wet jeans out over the radiator in the bathroom and peel off their second sweaters to the hoodies underneath. Spencer makes them both hot chocolate and then they sit back down on the couch to finish opening their gifts.

There are only a couple left; one for Brendon from Ryan, and the one that Brendon picked out for Spencer. Ryan's gotten Brendon some sheet music, some for the keyboard and some for the guitar.

"I didn't know you played," Spencer says, surprised. Ryan had told him what Brendon's job was, at some point, a music teacher of special kids or adults or whatever, but Spencer hadn't really been paying attention. One loser job was the same as any other loser job, he'd rationalized at the time. Spencer contemplated punching himself in the face for being such a fucking dick.

Brendon just shrugs. "Keyboards and guitar, mostly now," he says. "I've got a keyboard here, and I can plug in my headphones. The neighbors don't like my guitar much. I tend to play that at work a lot."

Spencer nods. "You must be really good," he says, flicking through the music Ryan's passed over. "Some of this stuff is pretty difficult."

Brendon mm-hmms, and concentrates on the music. "Yeah," he says, after a while. "Ryan says you used to play the drums."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "When I was in school. I haven't played in forever, though. I don't have a kit anymore." He hasn't played since he was seventeen, since his stupid band with Ryan and a couple of their friends had fizzled away to nothing. It had been fun there, for a while. Before they'd started arguing and split up.

"There's one at the community center," Brendon tells him. "You could maybe come down one day, if you'd like. Refresh your memory."

"Sounds good," Spencer says, after a beat, and shifts a little so that his thigh is pressing up against Brendon's. "Maybe you could play your guitar for me."

"Okay," Brendon says, and doesn't move away.

The last gift is Spencer's, from Brendon. Spencer unwraps it slowly, pulling off the ribbon before starting on the gift wrap.

It's a sweater. It's really nice; soft with green and blue stripes. He runs his thumb over the wool—it's all soft. "This is—" he starts.

"Do you like it?" Brendon asks. "I didn't know. But it seemed kind of sophisticated, like you. And warm. And it's cold out. And—"

Spencer stops him with a hand to his knee. "Thank you," he says. "It's really good. It's a really good gift."

"You don't have to wear it today," Brendon says, and he's staring down at Spencer's hand. Spencer doesn't move it away from Brendon's leg. "It's Christmas so you have to keep wearing your reindeer one, but—"

"Brendon," Spencer says, his thumb brushing Brendon's jeans. "Brendon."

"What?" Brendon's head darts up; he meets Spencer's gaze full on.

Spencer doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. "Thank you," he says, "for, you know. Everything."

"The socks," Brendon says, with a nervous laugh.

"The socks," Spencer agrees. "Although I'm pretty sure two Santas and eight reindeer don't add up."

"Dragging you out to throw snowballs."

"It was fun," Spencer tells him. It was.

"Waking you up at four thirty."

"Letting me go back to sleep," Spencer says, softly. He touches at Brendon's face with his other hand, stroking his cheek. "For today and yesterday. For Christmas."

Brendon bites his lip, but doesn't look away. "Spence," he starts.

"This would be a really good time to tell me to stop," Spencer says. "If you wanted me to."

"You don't have to stop," Brendon says, after a moment.

Spencer nods, and keeps stroking his cheek with his thumb. Brendon's eyes flutter shut, and Spencer leans in slowly, pressing his mouth to Brendon's for a moment. "Merry Christmas," he says. He can feel Brendon's breath against his lips.

"Happy Holidays," Brendon says, nudging forward and kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth.

Spencer breathes into the kiss, closed-mouth and warm. "Happy Chanukah," he says, belatedly, his thumb brushing Brendon's cheek again.

Brendon laughs. "I can't think of any more," he says. This time it's him that's leaning in, his palm to Spencer's neck, his fingers brushing Spencer's jaw.

Spencer shakes his head. "Shame," he says, with a grin. "You forfeit. Happy Kwanzaa," he murmurs, and this time Brendon's mouth opens beneath his, and Spencer's breathing into the kiss, his tongue sliding against Brendon's. Brendon's fingers are in Spencer's hair and they're sinking back into the couch cushions, lazily, slowly kissing. Spencer's hand slides up Brendon's thigh, curving around his ass, and fuck, Brendon's got a nice ass.

"We were supposed to be emailing your mom and dad," Brendon says, after a while, pulling back for breath. Brendon's cheeks are pink and his hair is messed up, his lips red and wet. He pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger.

"I'd rather be doing this," Spencer says, honestly.

Brendon smiles. "We should email your mom and dad," he says again. "What's the time difference?"

"They'll still be up for a while," Spencer says, reaching for Brendon again, hand on Brendon's waist.

"Christmas, Spencer," Brendon tells him. "Christmas is for your family."

"Christmas is for making out," Spencer says, grumpily.

"And we have to call Jon and Ryan."

"They'll just be having sex," Spencer says, petulantly. He sort of wants to be having sex, although making out with Brendon is kind of amazing. Even more amazing than he'd thought it'd be, actually, and he remembers the tingling feeling in his fingers and the warmth coiling in his belly.

"Pfft," Brendon says, waving his arm about. "Who has sex on Christmas Day?"

Spencer blinks. He was kind of hoping he would. Plus, Brendon looks really hot with his hair all messy and his sweater all rumpled. Brendon was pretty adorable, all things considered.

"You're not even listening to me," Brendon says, a moment later, poking Spencer in the shoulder with his finger.

"I am," Spencer says. "What did you say?"

Brendon raises an eyebrow. "See," he says, but then he's leaning over and kissing Spencer again, just briefly, a swipe of tongue and the press of warm lips. "We should call your mom and dad, and then call Jon and Ryan."

Spencer feels something tighten inside of him. "What about your parents?" he asks, hesitantly.

Brendon nods. "They're busy," he says. "They'll be home later. Mom said she'd try and call then."

"Okay," Spencer says. "I'm pretty sure my mom is going to want to talk to you, though. She'll need proof I'm still wearing the sweater."

Brendon grins. "See," he says again, "That's why we've got to call them now. I might be lying, later on." Spencer looks confused. "You might not be wearing it then."

Spencer laughs. "Okay," he says, but he's tugging Brendon closer and kissing him again. "You win. Boot up your computer and we'll email the photos."

"You're going to have to let go of me first," Brendon tells him.

Well, yeah. Spencer knows that. He still holds on a little longer, though.

—

His mom sounds happy to hear from him, all those thousands of miles away at the other end of the phone line. She calls his dad over, and explains that Jackie and Crystal have gone over to a friend's to drop off some gifts. "They'll be back soon," she says. "I'll get them to call you."

"Sure," Spencer says, easily, and he shifts on the sofa so there's room for Brendon to sit down next to him.

Brendon—who is breaking pieces off a huge slab of chocolate—ducks under Spencer's arm and rests his head on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer drops a kiss to Brendon's forehead and tunes in again to what his mom's saying.

"I've emailed you some pictures, Mom," he says. "Is your laptop on?"

"Your dad does. Hold on, I'll get him to check our email. Honey. _Honey_ -"

Spencer taps his fingers against his knee.

"Spencer, he's not listening. Oh, he is now, I threw a book at his head."

Spencer laughs. His parents are pretty amazing.

"Merry Christmas, Mom," he says. "Tell dad, too."

"I will." There's silence for a moment, then, "we're opening them now, honey." Then, "Oh, you're wearing the sweater. How long did you keep it on this year?"

"I'm still wearing it," Spencer protests.

"I don't believe you," his mom says. "Put Ryan on, he'll tell me the truth."

"Ryan's not here, Mom," Spencer admits. "He's away with Jon."

"Oh," his mom quiets.

"I could put Brendon on, though. He'll tell you I'm still wearing it."

"Okay," his mom hums, and Spencer's handing the phone to Brendon before he realizes he's barely even explained who Brendon _is_.

Brendon's pulling away and sitting up straight, squaring his shoulders as he says _hello_.

Spencer smiles, and sits back against the edge of the couch. He listens as Brendon tells Spencer's mom that yes, Spencer is still wearing the sweater, no, he's not kidding, and yes, he will be wearing it all day. He then goes on to describe Spencer's borrowed socks, and Spencer can hear his mom's laughter from where he's sitting. He pokes Brendon in the side so that Brendon squirms away, laughing. He keeps his hand on Brendon's thigh after, and Brendon covers it with his own. It's kind of nice.

After Spencer's talked to his mom some more and then his dad, and left messages for both his sisters, he hangs up, and slides an arm around Brendon's shoulders.

"Your mom is nice," Brendon says lazily, pressing out a rhythm on Spencer's chest.

"Yeah," Spencer agrees. "She is." He doesn't see enough of his family. He spends too long up here, crashing on Ryan's sofa and staying up too late to watch movies with titles he can't remember.

Spencer calls Ryan and Jon up after that, while Brendon's making them coffee. When the call connects, Ryan just says, "Jeez, Spence, I'm never doing this again, okay?"

"Which part?" Spencer asks, trying not to be worried.

"Being away from you at Christmas," he says, too quickly.

Spencer breathes out a sigh of relief. "You don't mean that," he says, equally quickly. "You're probably having a shitload of sex. Christmas sex, Ryan, come on. That's got to be better than me passing out on your couch and throwing up in your bathtub."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees fervently. "So the sex is good." There's an affronted noise in the background, and Ryan huffs a laugh. "Okay, so the sex is fucking awesome-"

Spencer wrinkles his nose. "Brendon," he calls, "Ryan's telling me about his sex life again. Make him stop."

Brendon sticks his head around the door from the kitchen. He claps his hands over his ears. "Tell them we do not wish to hear such traumatic stories."

"You get that?" Spencer says, laughing.

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Seriously though. I'd— _we'd_ —rather be back there with you guys."

Jon takes the phone. "Next year we're not negotiating. We're all going away or we're all staying there. We miss you guys too much."

"Us too," Spencer says, and Brendon leans against the door jamb. Spencer's heart skitters in his chest, and that's kind of _weird_. "We miss you guys too."

There's a silence, and then Ryan comes back on the line. "How's Brendon?" he asks, and Spencer's known him too long. He can read the tiny inflections that Jon will probably miss, the worry underneath his words.

"He's good," Spencer says, and he waves Brendon over, holding his arm out for Brendon to slide under. "We're both good. We're having a good time."

"The best," Brendon says, crowding the phone. "But we still miss you."

Ryan lets out a long sigh. "Good," he says. "Good."

Spencer nods, curling his fingers around Brendon's wrist.

"I'm still going to kill you when I get home," Ryan adds.

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer says, and suddenly he wishes that Ryan were right here with him, even if it meant Ryan killing him dead with his elbows or something. He probably deserves it. He hasn't spent a Christmas without Ryan since he was five years old. "You come home soon, okay?" Spencer finds himself saying, before he can stop himself.

"Yeah," Ryan says, quickly. "Hate you more than I hate Celine Dion."

"Hate you more than I hate, um," Spencer has to think, "more than _country_ music."

"You two are fucking weird," Brendon says, and steals the phone so he can speak to Ryan. "Spencer's been wearing his Christmas sweater all day," he says, and Spencer has to bury his face in his hands so he can't hear Ryan's laughter. "And we watched _The Muppet Christmas Carol_. And threw snowballs."

Spencer hides his face in Brendon's shoulder. Ryan's never going to let him forget it.

"No, really," Brendon goes on. "He was singing along, too."

"Was _not_ ," Spencer tells him, but Brendon just laughs and pushes him away.

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Put Jon on before we die from not talking to each other."

Spencer lies back on the couch while Brendon wanders off into the kitchen to talk to Jon. There's wrapping paper all over the floor and LPs littered all over the table by the record player. He leans over the back of the couch to the table, lazily flicking through one of the boxes of records and picking out a haphazard playlist. He's been through a whole box by the time Brendon wanders back out of the kitchen, clutching the phone.

Brendon's looking really sad. "I'm such a fucking idiot," he says.

"You're not," Spencer says, sitting back on the couch. "Come here."

Brendon comes over and leans his head against Spencer's shoulder. "I just," he starts. "I don't have anyone else," he says, burying his face in Spencer's neck so that his words are muffled against Spencer's skin. "I've just got Jon, and he's not here."

"You've got me," Spencer says fiercely, "and you've got Ryan."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," Spencer cuts him off, and he means every word, "You've got me, Brendon."

And then Brendon's kissing him, kneeling up over him and cupping Spencer's face in his hands, kissing him hard, tongue sliding across Spencer's.

Spencer's arching up against him, hands curving in the nape of Brendon's back, pulling him closer. "You've got me," he says, kissing across Brendon's jaw, his cheek.

Brendon touches at Spencer's neck, tipping his chin up so he can kiss Spencer's throat.

Spencer hisses in a breath; he's hard. "Are we doing this _here_?" he asks, in between breaths.

"I've got a perfectly good bed," Brendon tells him, tongue sliding across his throat. "But it's kind of far. It's all the way over there."

"That is kind of far," Spencer agrees. He's sliding his hands up and under Brendon's sweater, touching at the skin in the hollow of Brendon's lower back with the tips of his fingers. Brendon presses closer.

"If we're going to have sex at Christmas," Brendon says, still mouthing at his throat, "we should at least do it on a bed of gift wrap debris."

"Yeah," Spencer says, thinking about those weird-assed squinty-eyed reindeer Brendon's got lined up by the radiator, watching him, "but, _pine needles_."

Brendon winces. "Bed?"

"Fuck, yeah," Spencer says, and he's pushing Brendon back and onto his feet, taking his hand. "Fuck, I don't know where I'm going."

Brendon snorts, "That way," he says, pushing Spencer forward and through the door.

"Fuck, it's cold," Spencer says, tugging off his sweater and shivering. He tends to swear a lot when he's turned on. And when he's frustrated, and angry.

"Crap, yes," Brendon agrees, pulling off his clothes and diving under the covers. "Hurry up, Spence, it's fucking cold in here."

Spencer's toe socks are stupidly difficult to get off. "I blame you," he says, hopping on one leg and struggling.

Brendon's laughing so much he can barely talk. He just thumps the blankets with one hand and gestures a lot until he gets his breathing under control.

"Hate you, hate you, hate you," Spencer huffs, hopping on the other leg. "I am suave, I'll have you know, suave and _sophisticated_ -"

Brendon grabs hold of his arm and tugs him down onto the bed. "What you are," he says, pulling Spencer down and leaning over to steal a kiss, "is talking too much."

"These socks are stupid," Spencer points out, grumpily.

"Your face is stupid," Brendon tells him, seriously. "Hurry up."

Spencer clambers awkwardly under the blanket. "Fuck, it's cold," he shivers.

"Come here then," Brendon grins and pulls him closer.

"Over there, huh," Spencer says, smiling.

"Yep," Brendon nods, "That's the idea."

And then Brendon leans in, pressing his mouth to Spencer's. His skin is warm, but Spencer hasn't had sex in so long he's forgotten what it's like to feel someone's skin against his, the flex of muscle beneath his fingers. He runs his hands up Brendon's sides, brushing his fingers across Brendon's stomach.

Brendon hisses in a breath.

Spencer ducks his mouth down to Brendon's sternum, mouthing at the skin. Brendon's head tips back against the pillow.

"Fuck," he groans.

Spencer grins and kneels over Brendon, bending down and kissing his throat, his jaw, his mouth. They kiss open mouthed for a while, slowly and lazily, Spencer's tongue sliding across Brendon's.

Kissing is amazing, Spencer thinks. Kissing _Brendon_ is amazing. Brendon is sweet and funny and totally lame—but in this cute, endearing way that Spencer can't help but appreciate—and he can't remember the last time he'd felt this tingling in his fingers and warmth in his chest over someone.

They kiss for a long time, legs tangling, fingers in each other's hair, hands exploring. They're not rushing toward anything else, the heated, furious race for the finish line. Spencer's still kneeling over him, hips pressing forward but not enough to have him pushing down against Brendon's erection. The heat in his belly is nice, curling and coiling somewhere deep inside.

"Spencer," Brendon manages, breaking away from their kiss. "Fucking touch me, okay?" and then he's pulling Spencer down next to him, rolling over so that they're both on their sides, so that he's sliding a hand down between them and the first touch of Brendon's hand to Spencer's erection has him arching off the bed and gasping for breath.

"Fuck," Spencer groans, and then he's reaching down between them and trying to touch Brendon. "Shit," he manages, at the first feel of Brendon's erection beneath his palm, the _heat_.

Brendon kisses him again, hot and desperate. "I want this," he says, in between kisses, "I want _you_."

"Fuck," Spencer says again, and it's difficult to get a rhythm going and his wrist feels like it's bending the wrong way. He jerks himself off enough, he should know what he's doing by now.

"Let me," Brendon starts, "let me suck you off."

Spencer's head tips back on the pillow. He nods, jerkily. "Yeah."

Half the blankets tumble off the bed as Brendon kicks his way down the mattress, kneeling down over Spencer's thighs so that he can lick a stripe across the head of Spencer's erection.

Spencer's fingers tangle in the sheets. He's had people go down on him before—not many, actually, not as many as he'd like, but he's had _some_ experience—but there's something about this, there's something about looking down and seeing Brendon kneeling between his legs, one hand closing around the base of Spencer's dick, his mouth opening and sliding down over the head of Spencer's cock. There's something about it that slides straight to his erection, his hips pressing up as Brendon slides down. It's a stilted rhythm, Brendon's hand and his mouth, Spencer's hips pushing up. The only sounds in the room are the wet slide of Brendon's mouth and Spencer's hitched breathing, his hands and his feet moving against the sheets as he tries to keep some semblance of control.

Then Brendon's sliding his other hand down, and curling around his own cock, and Brendon's getting off on this, getting off on his mouth around Spencer's erection and it's just too much.

His hand cups Brendon's cheek and he can feel his cock inside Brendon's mouth, feel the heat from within and the movement against Brendon's skin. His fingers tangle in Brendon's hair and then Spencer's telling him how beautiful he looks, how amazing it feels, how good Brendon's mouth is.

Spencer talks a lot when he's getting off. It's kind of embarrassing though, after, and he tries to quiet down, tries to bite his lip so he's not talking, so he's not saying things to Brendon he can't take back later.

Brendon sits back, jerking himself off, and says "don't stop, don't stop talking." He doesn't bend over again and take Spencer in until Spencer's started to talk again.

This time, Spencer doesn't try to stop, and he's rambling again, more of the same, his fingers running through Brendon's hair, splaying his fingers across his shoulder, his arm. He can feel it, his orgasm; it's curling in his belly and sending tiny sparks all down his arms and his legs and down his spine.

He tries to warn Brendon but he just groans around Spencer's cock and stays right where he is as Spencer comes.

Afterwards, when Spencer's blinking and sitting back on his elbows, Brendon's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, sitting back and jerking himself off.

Sweat sheens on his forehead and across his shoulders, in the curve of his stomach. His cock is broad and hard, red and wet as Brendon jerks off in front of him.

"Brendon," Spencer manages, and he's reaching for his hips, sitting up so that Brendon's in the v of Spencer's legs, Spencer's hands stroking at Brendon's thighs. "Fuck, you look so hot."

Brendon's hips skitter forwards and his cock jumps. Brendon's eyes are dark and wide; his mouth is wet and half-open. There's a stripe of Spencer's come across his chin.

Spencer leans forward and licks at it, his mouth closing over Brendon's. "You look so fucking hot," he says again, licking into Brendon's mouth, feeling his groan against his tongue. "Fuck," he says again, "you're so amazing."

"I'm going to-" Brendon gasps, and Spencer's suddenly hit by how much he wants this, how much he wants to see what Brendon looks like as he orgasms.

"Come on," Spencer tells him, "I want to see you come."

Brendon's head falls back as he comes; he groans out a _fuck_ and tips forward, burying his face in Spencer's neck as he comes across his thigh and Spencer's stomach. His breath is hot and uneven against Spencer's skin.

Spencer finds himself stroking Brendon's back and murmuring through Brendon's comedown, while he stops shaking and his breathing returns to normal.

"You're so-" Spencer starts, and he doesn't know how to finish up, he really doesn't. Brendon's _amazing_.

"You too," Brendon says, yawning. He wipes himself off with his t-shirt, leaning over and wiping Spencer's stomach, too. He leans in and kisses Spencer, sleepy and lazy and musky.

Spencer kisses back, equally lazily.

They shuffle back up to the pillows and pull the covers up; Spencer never stays awake long after he comes. He falls asleep with Brendon pressed up against his side, one arm slung across his chest.

-o-

 

Brendon wakes up before Spencer, after. He's content just to lay there and curl up by Spencer's side, and he's contemplating kissing him awake when he realizes that he's got a Christmas dinner to prepare and definitely not enough time to do it in.

His eyes widen, and he's sneaking out of bed and grabbing his clothes, heading across the living room and into the kitchen before he's had time to think about it.

"This is going to be a total fucking disaster," he tells himself, once he's dressed. He opens his cookbook to his bookmarked page and eyes the recipe. He needs a fucking shower, but he'll have to settle for just washing his hands. "A total disaster," he says again, when he realizes that step one involved taking the tofurkey out of the freezer yesterday. He pokes it dubiously with one finger, and then unwraps it out of the foil and puts it in the microwave on the defrost setting.

"Such a bad idea," he says again, after five minutes in the microwave still yields a very frozen tofurkey.

"Okay," he tells himself, "this is going to be okay." And he puts the microwave on for ten minutes, this time, and concentrates on peeling the vegetables.

He's pretty sure it didn't used to take his mom twenty minutes to peel four potatoes and three carrots. He's only accidentally peeled his thumb once though, so that's totally a win.

Still, the tofurkey's looking a little bit less like an icicle, which is good.

He's managed to get the tofurkey wrapped in foil and in the oven when Spencer stumbles sleepily into the kitchen, his hair sticking up.

"You didn't wake me," he says, blinking away sleep. "And you've been cooking."

"Christmas dinner," Brendon says, vaguely awkwardly. He's only been with a couple of people, and one of those had been a guy who'd slept with him and then taken off. He's never really done this conversation and had it go in his favor. He's hoping that Spencer will stay for dinner, at least.

"Excellent," Spencer nods, then crowds Brendon back against the counter, leaning in and kissing his neck, his jaw, his mouth. Brendon's head tips back. "You're amazing, you know that?" Spencer tells him, in between mouthing at Brendon's jaw and leaning in for another kiss.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Brendon says, dazedly, and then he's sliding his hands underneath Spencer's shirt, resting in the hollow of Spencer's back. Spencer's skin is sleepy-warm, his kisses lazy and half-awake. Brendon can't actually believe this is happening. "You don't want to leave, do you?"

Spencer looks confused. "Why would I want to leave?"

Brendon shrugs. "Don't know. Thought you might want to, though."

"Don't you want me to stay?"

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Of course. Just. If you wanted to."

"I don't want to," Spencer says, and leans in to kiss him.

"Good," Brendon says, and kisses back.

"It's snowing again," Spencer says, after a few minutes. His mouth is all red and wet, his lips swollen from too much kissing. Brendon could watch him for a long time, he thinks. "I looked out the window."

"Yeah?" Brendon peers out the kitchen window at the flurries. "Our snow angels will be gone, soon."

"Doesn't matter," Spencer tells him. He wraps an arm around Brendon's shoulders, and Brendon's content to lean in and hug back. "We can always make more in the morning."

Brendon laughs, and hugs him harder.

"So," Spencer says, a minute later. "What are we eating? Ryan says that Jon says it's pretty amazing."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "It would have been more amazing if I'd remembered to take the tofurkey out of the freezer yesterday, like I was supposed to."

"Can't have everything," Spencer shrugs. "Anyway, it can't be worse than Ryan's Vegetarian Christmas Surprise."

"It might be," Brendon tells him, despondently, and finds himself showing Spencer the pages he's bookmarked in his cookbook. "That's gone wrong and I haven't done this yet and I'm supposed to be making stuffing balls. That just sounds weird."

Spencer kisses Brendon's forehead. "Seriously," he says, "even if this doesn't work out, it's still going to be better than Ryan's. Except you can't tell him I said that, I swore that I liked it."

Brendon laughs. "Your secret's safe with me," he says, "so long as you do me a favor and help out. I don't think I'm a very good cook."

—

The food turns out well, in the end, although that probably has more to do with Brendon's realization that Spencer is very serious about his cooking, rather than any particular skill that Brendon possesses in the kitchen. They eat it at the table in the living room, with the records piled up between them like a very large iTunes playlist.

"Definitely better than Ryan's," Spencer says, after the first mouthful.

Brendon just grins. It really is pretty good. Tofurkey rocks.

They take turns standing up and turning the record over.

Later on, when it gets dark, they move back to the couch, and Brendon wriggles so that he can push his toes under Spencer's thighs to keep them warm.

Spencer just laughs and leans in for a kiss as the _Die Hard 2_ menu plays over and over on the TV screen.

"You want to stay tonight?" Brendon asks, a few minutes later. His fingers rest in the curve of Spencer's neck, his thumb stroking at Spencer's collarbone.

"Oh," Spencer says, looking thoughtful. "I don't know. Do I have to sleep in the living room again?"

Brendon shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure there's room in my bed," he says.

Spencer nods his head. "Okay," he says. "That kind of clinches it for me."

"Yes?" Brendon asks, grinning. "Are you staying?"

Spencer just laughs and leans in, catching Brendon's mouth with his own. "Yes," he says, in between kisses. "I'd love to."

"Good," Brendon tells him. "That's good news."

"The best," Spencer agrees.

Brendon laughs against his mouth.

"Merry Christmas," Spencer tells him, softly. He kisses the corner of Brendon's mouth.

"You too," Brendon says. "Merry Christmas, I mean."

Spencer tugs Brendon closer, and Brendon rests his head on Spencer's shoulder as he reaches for the remote to press play.

 

  
Epilogue    


 

Brendon and Spencer arrive to Ryan's New Year's party hand in hand, and only let go of each other long enough to take off their coats and hats and scarves and gloves.

Jon's laughing into his sleeve and Ryan has to sit down.

"What," Ryan says, pointing between the two of them. "What. _What_."

Brendon leans up and kisses Spencer on the cheek. Spencer blushes pink and squeezes Brendon's hand.

Ryan sits down on the end of his couch. "Did someone kidnap the real Spencer Smith?"

"Shut up," Spencer says, lazily. He pokes Ryan in the shoulder as he sits down on the couch. Brendon sits down next to him.

"No," Ryan says, turning around and looking confused. "I'm never shutting up. It's like the bodysnatchers came while we were away. Did they? Did the bodysnatchers come?"

"Shut up," Spencer says again, one hand up Brendon's sweater and resting on his back. "I'm a nice person."

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "Have you _met_ you?"

"He is a changed man," Brendon pronounces, wriggling back into Spencer's hand. "He has seen the beauty of Christmas and relented. He is like Scrooge at the end of the movie, when he's singing with all the Muppets."

"You do know that's a book and not just a movie with Muppets, right?" Ryan asks, after a moment.

Brendon lazily kicks Ryan in the ankle. "Sure I do. But the Muppets are best." He launches into a verse of _Thankful Heart_.

"For the last time, I am not fucking Scrooge," Spencer says. He really fucking isn't.

Even Brendon raises an eyebrow at that.

"I'm _not_ ," Spencer protests.

"You know what they say about protesting too much," Jon says, dragging Ryan down into the armchair so he's sitting on Jon's knee.

"Yeah," Ryan nods. "What Jon said."

Spencer narrows his eyes. "I am not fucking _Scrooge_."

"If he says it enough times, do you think he'll start to believe it?" Ryan asks, conversationally.

Jon shrugs comfortably. "Maybe. With time."

"I found an awesome _Muppet Christmas Carol_ mug on Ebay," Brendon says excitedly. "I'm totally going to give it to Spencer for Christmas next year. It's got a picture of Scrooge on. It'll be like looking in a mirror."

"I hate you all," Spencer says, grumpily.

"Is that Spencer-speak for _Merry Christmas everyone_ , do you think?" Ryan asks, reaching for a handful of M&Ms. He picks two out and feeds them to Jon absently.

Brendon just grins and buries his face in Spencer's shoulder.

Ryan and Jon start to laugh.

"Hate, hate, hate," Spencer starts, but then Brendon's kissing him, fingers touching at his jaw, tongue sliding against his. _Maybe not so much anymore_ , Spencer thinks, and kisses Brendon back.

 

[the end].


End file.
